The Pig Stories

[Nedward Underhill]

By popular request, below you will find a series of stories inpired by "Snuffle," the pot-bellied pig, who came into my life when I was still married, and my daughter Calyn was 4.

I wrote them when in my 20s, while I was supposed to be writing a Master's thesis in English Lit. That, and my life-long penchant to be different, is the explanation for the unusual (and frankly, frustrating) elliptical style of writing. I thought myself terribly hip at the time.

This story is, as they say, based upon a true story.

[Nedward Underhill]

IT'S A BOY!

the day began eventfully...
calyn's tooth began to loosen when she did a spectacular face-plant (while running on the grass). too far to grab her, i could only watch helplessly as, time going into that slow-motion camera footage it saves for just such moments, her head went down and her feet went up...up..right up to when her head had been a moment (hour) ago and then speeding back down towards the ground (as the camera returned to normal shutter-speed). i came Running up, but she wasn't crying (i only learned Later that she was, in that moment, Not Unscathed (as she appeared to all outward appearance), but was in the throws of a "boy, i must be in TROUBLE for That one" emotional upheaval which kicks in for all of us, but more clearly in children's psyches...(in my own youth i remember feeling tight-lipped myself in times of greatest need: breaking my arm, getting hit by a car, i wouldn't speak to a soul about it for fear of Retribution (for what?))

and SO, it had been loosening since that tumultuous moment, in a way that approximated the life of a Normal child's tooth. as Calyn explained it, the tooth was "packing its bags", for the great journey into the loving arms of the tooth-fairy no doubt (Exposed to a parallel fate, I Too would be convinced i might find safer lodgings somewhere else...), and on the Great And Eventful day, the tooth was simply hanging around the house, looking at all the Great emptiness of its previous tenancy, listening to the echo of her roof-chamber, and doing all the things that one does when the deal is done but the ties are not yet severed.

throughout the 60 days notice, calyn had been living in a state of high anticipation. the loose tooth, seen in the light of a Great Watershed, was a sign-post indicating that she was leaving too: leaving the world of "little girls" for the Great New Adventure of being a BIG GIRL, with an ADULT tooth coming in, no less ("a great responsibility" i say to her again, as i must have stressed Every Day of her life since i saw her first tooth come in; me, with hardly a tooth left in my head from ill-management...). she had spent most of her days playing with it, asking us to look in her mouth, to touch it too (an action which inevitably threw tracey into a fit of sour-faced heebee-jeebies, which i found absolutely irresistable: "calyn! why don't you come over here and let me see that tooth of yours? here, let me touch it. BOY! that's just a-wiggling in there. Tracey! have you put your finger on the wobbly tooth in calyn's mouth? look at that, i can almost bend it aaaallll the way forward! does that hurt when i pull on it like that calyn? ("haaaangh") Hey Tracey! when i bent it down, you can see a little Blood underneath! and some Spit is shooting out! COME LOOK!..."). yes, it had been a jolly time for all of us...anticipating the moment that the first departing tenant (who was probably still claiming eviction) would be going out into the world to seek his fortune...maybe even one day be transformed into gold and slipped by the loving hands of that Great Mother of all traveling teeth under some child's bed...and be cherished forever.

however, with the dawning of the illustrious day when it was at last obvious to all involved that this lingering could not last more than a few short hours more, Calyn suddenly got it into her head that she had changed her mind. perhaps it was tracey's over-enthusiasm (she, who wanted to get that "adorable" little tooth in her hot little hands ("Look! I'm a MOM! Look what My Daughter Did!"), or perhaps it was the fact that in the last moments of departure the tenant had decided to inflict a little pain back on the great tumble-landlady. Whatever the reason, caly did Not want to give birth to that little tooth-death. suddenly, her mouth was NO MORE open to inspection. Even the Tease Mommy game was off limits...(could that have something to do with my saying: "here; i'll just grab that old tooth and Yank it right out. it will Only hurt for a Minute"?)

it was also Canada day. (a curious thing about birthdays; is that the End of another year, or the Beginning?) SO...to distract ourselves and amuse ourselves, we bumbled into the car and drove down to Beacon Hill park, Victoria's great downtown park, to check out the festivities...

that's when it happened.

after sitting in the sun, and standing in line, and listening to volunteer stage managers, and people who will perform for free (not ALL of whom were bad...maybe...), we moseyed on over to Ye Old Beacon Hill Petting Farm. At the petting Zoo, there are:
peacocks, goats, little birds which i don't know the name of, miniature donkeys, rabbits, sheep, turtles, and a couple others i can't remember at the moment.

you don't Have to pay to go to the petting farm, but as we walked past the entrance, Tracey worried about making a contribution in their handy-dandy contribution jar. i said something like: "we don't have the money" i think. which was patently false, as i was soon to find out. in fact, instead of making a Painless donation of 2 dollars and odd cents, patting a few pigs and going home, we made a $200 contribution, patted a pig and Took It Home.

yup.

so: this here letter is not an announcement that we've gone off and given birth to a baby while no one was watching. it's not even a wild-and-woolly pregnancy announcement. rather, i am now introducing you to Snuffle Harwood-Jones (tracey having adopted my last name i can say this with a clear conscience, it's even on the vet bill...), the pot-bellied pig. purchased weight: 8 lb. 7 oz. black all over with a straight little tail which wags furiously when he's really interested n something (food). brown eyes, cloven hoof. donations will be eaten.

Just after purchasing the pig, calyn's tooth came out in her hand ("and it didn't even hurt!"). the obvious conclusion was that this was the last straw for the poor tooth...

for those of you who think that:
a) we've lost our minds
b) we've lost our minds and
c) why would anyone Want a pig for a pet, anyway? the answer is simple: we've lost our minds. but, that being said, we've only made a better niche for ourselves in the Harwood-Jones clan, and in hindsight i think i came out rather well. here's why:

1. pig is cheap. anyone who knows tracey will attest to the fact that she is a 'pet' person (she comes when called, she likes to be rubbed...no, not that kind!). while other people talk about how one Must (or should) have multiple children, we have long heart-to-hearts about how our child is growing up without a four-legged companion. because of calyn's old allergies ('tubes' in her ears as a baby...), we have been excluded from the pet-pool. recently, we made a long-distance phone call to a place in ontario to inquire about hairless cats (one of the only breeders of these particular type of mutants in canada). the price-tag for a creature which would be genetically schizophrenic and mistaken for a bloated rat: $850 (plus shipping and handling...). while $200 might sound like a lot, it's music to My ears...

2. the pig is hypo-allergenic. not so much as a snuffle-sniffle from caly. it's the perfect earring choice for people with sensitive skin. Snuffle has short stiff black hair which doesn't shed all over the house. it can't go up stairs, so the upstairs of our house is perfectly pig-free. I find myself sniffing once and awhile, but wont be able to tell definitively until after the hay-fever season is over...

3. my wife has a new baby. (whew) you think an $850 hairless is bad, try a human hairless! with 5 years since labour and a biological clock counting down (tracey's 26, so the Real fun has yet to start. none the less, there have been times when i've seen her eyeing me as if I were an enormous weenie dressed in pants and a shirt...) this is not calyn's pet. we all see through the 'pet for the kid' syndrome, right? well, tracey spends her whole life thinking about that pig. she can talk endlessly about the wonders of the pig ("he's So Cute!", "look at his fat belly!", "did you see him fall down?"...) so i'm off the hook...at least for a few years (did you know pigs can live up to 25 years?)

4. he doesn't bark. he 'snuffs', naturally. the sounds snuffle makes have, I have discovered, an almost universal appeal with men, who would themselves like nothing more than to go through life expressing themselves in a similar manner (and probably often do...). snuffle is a quiet pet, that is, unless he is squealing. the squeal of a pig is, according to our handy-dandy 'how to love your pig in 5 easy steps' book, louder in decibels that a jet in take-off. I should know, he and I had a run in...whoooweee was that loud (and STINKY! when I pinned him down he emitted a stink which literally caused me to momentarily black out...which allowed the pig to get away... now the pig hates me. (ah... the joys of parenthood!))

5. he wont damage the furniture. unless you count rugs as furniture, and so far he has only started rooting a few times...

6. he's so darn cute.

well, i'm going to stop now. but before I go, let me just tell you one more small anecdote. calyn, who takes after her father in many wonderful and...oh heck, just More wonderful ways (she's a Perfect child, you know...), was busily concocting names from the moment we carried the pig to the car. arriving home, she enlisted her mother to write them down. I too had been working on a name for this new progeny, but when I saw 'Snuffle' I realised my daughter's unwitting genius. you see, while tracey is in many ways a mature, grown up, BIG GIRL, she has not lost her fear of her parents. buying the pig, much like getting pregnant with me 6 years ago, was very much Against The Rules. she knew she was being Bad, that she had been told No Pets; but she WANTED the pig. so we bought the pig (how could I resist that desperately longing look? especially for such a Weird pet? No One has a pet like MY Pet... (oops, i've given away my attraction in this whole busimess...)) so we 'thought with our hearts' and got the pig (we had, of course, done some small research on pot-bellied pigs about a year ago, even talked about how wonderful such a thing would be, never thinking we would be confronted with the reality which is even now in my kitchen, sleeping in him very own bed, snuggled under his blanket...). but, driving home, I queried, "what are we going to do about your parents?" she didn't want to tell them. (Big Trouble...) now tracey's Folks call, or are called, about one a week. sometimes twice. and we have on our hands a five-year-old daughter who likes to tell them everything. in her mind, the departing tooth and the pig were inexorably linked. in My mind, there was No Way that she Would NOT tell them at the very first possible opportunity ALL ABOUT THE PIG. yessiree, a real DEElemna for a daughter like tracey who's going to be in TROUBLE. so naturally, 'Snuffle' was Perfect for our pig: a not-so-distant relative of that great Uppagus character on public telivision, he was to be our little invisible friend...and now will always be so named.

attached is a scanned photo of snuff: we're working on the family portrait...

[Nedward Underhill]

WHAT HAVE I DONE!?!
ohmygodohmygodiamonestupidIDIOTohmygodohmy

do you remember my gloating, nay, gleeful bleat about being saved from the terrors of second-childedness? well, Some Damn Fool wrote those lines, but it wasn't Me. (i see him now: holding up the great HOLY PIG, the salvation of all england, with heavenly light pouring down upon the alofted squealing form, the swinish chalice of beautifus nectarus...) let me tell you right now that the only nectar which emanates from this swine is of a very low (and posterior) sort, a completely UNdivine expulsion which, while a valued fertilizer by some, is entirely unwanted upon the various ground and furniture surfaces of My Home! AAAAGH! I'M LIVING IN A BARN!

you know, he Really is an adorable little guy; not unlike an enormous black sausage trotting around my home, tipping up his little pugnacious nostrils (with those little tiny hairs all over them) at me when he wants something (although this 'something' is monolithically, monologically, and monomaniacally...and always...food), satisfying to rub the way a sort of large, warm, short-speared brush would be (if you had a mobile one), falling down in a heap and foaming at the mouth in a rapture of ecstasy when someone is willing to stroke his belly (can this have anything to do with the fact that his penis runs down the middle of this very area? hmmm...). Besides which he's...well, he's a Pig for crying out loud! In My House! That's just the Funniest thing....

the question remains: what is the elasticity of Cute?

Pigs have 1 (just one) GREAT talent. Sure, they're smarter than dogs (is this a credit?). in Fact, according to one source (my wife...No, no. a site on the net devoted to pot-bellies! Really! ...ok, my wife.), pigs are the 4th smartest creature on the planet (it goes slugs, whales, monkeys, pigs if i'm not mistaken). And SUre, they've got a nose that can crack stone (ohBOYohBOY...can i have one too?). But the truly Great gift god-given to every little boy and girl piggy is "The Ability to Convert Feed into Fat". YES, No creature, in the whole of creation, holds a candle to these illustrious Flab-Machines! did you know that a standard pig can balloon to 800 lbs in the space of 6 months and without even breaking a sweat? Superior in every way to The Fish, the pig Cannot eat himself to death! Studying my pig so far, i've finally come up for the words to describe the look he constantly carries around with him. If you could listen inside that small skull, you would hear this mantra: "oh i hope! oh i hope! oh i hope...", except it's much faster and deeper-felt than that; more like "oihope oihope oihope..." it doesn't matter where he is, the moment anyone steps into the kitchen he's there, standing by his food dish, tipping it up with his nose and letting it come crashing down. Snuffing very hopefully. On his best behavior. Food is the Ultimate Motivator (the "UM"). Snuffle will do anything for One Tasty Little Snack. We have taught him to 'sit', to 'lie down', to 'go to your bed', to 'go upstairs' (which is quite a feat for someone whose legs barely exceed his stomach), to 'come', to 'go', to go 'inside', 'outside', 'upside-down'...you get the picture. the only catch is, he has to See the food before he'll do any of it. None of those 'i'll do it for Your pleasure, boss!' Doggisms. NO way. Led on my his own insatiable taste-buds, this pig would learn how to knit, drive my car, or do my income tax return to get one delicious banana peel. Without food, he can't remember who i am.

The other side of this great gift of the flab is, of course, inevitable. While an enormous amount of what goes in one end stays in, even a pig cannot convert All intake into bulk (Newton's fourth physical law: "For any amount of matter consumed, an equal and near-opposite amount will be ejected"). Snuffle ejects so much excrement, i wonder where he Keeps it all. Every few evenings we go for a family walk and i swear, he Saves It Up. In the space of the 30 minutes we're out, he goes at least 6 times. And they don't get any smaller. These are not space-claiming territorial rites, these are the sort of long, massive dumps which come so rarely to us constipated materialist north americans, the sort that accompany that totally depleted sensation which verges upon sexual expression. But Snuffle Does Not Deplete! he performs his anal act with an extravagance which pornographic directors only dream of. Our 'walks' are farces, 30-minute false starts. We go home when the safeway bag gets full....

Don't misunderstand. Snuffle also uses his litter box inside. he simply has More Ready whenever we step outside. Sometimes i fantasize about starving him for 3 days, then terrifying him so he shits it all out, so he's Finally EMPTY, then going for a Really Substantial Walk. Of walking to the store at the bottom of the hill...without a poop-bag...nodding to people with my pig trotting beside me...Not having the neighborhood kids running over to "watch him poo". Even if he Only went outside, that would be better. You see, pigs have no qualms about stepping in their offal. My guess is that, unlike the paws of better-known pets, the nerve-endings under those little hooves are not too sensitive. As a result, our proud pig will go and 'poop in the box' (yet another command learnt well) and then stand, or worse, sit, squarely in it, waiting for his prerequisite reward. As a result, my house is tracked through with pig-paths. little remains of his passing, decorating the once immaculate sanctity of my home. It's no longer safe to take your shoes off at the door. And, of course, he's only a piglet, so we have 'accidents' still. Do You Know what pig pee smells like? The cure for such rug-stains involves paper-towels, soda water and corn starch. and if poop tracks and Pee Stains and Piles of Wet Corn Starch were NOT ENOUGH, the pig Brings in the Hay we bought him from the enclosed patio AND DECORATES OR HOUSE WITH IT! AND HEALTHY POT-BELLIES LIVE FOR 25 YEARS!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...........................

i'm ok. really.
i'm just in the process of making a few adjustments To My Head...

well. that's not at all what i had meant to tell you about. i had meant to tell you about my LONG WALK. (yes, i Really did it! just Me and the Pig. All the way across the road!) about finding interesting treats and a DOG who wanted to eat him. but i'm spent now, so it'll have to wait for your request.

[Nedward Underhill]

i have heard that there is such a quality as Foresight. this characteristic - this aptitude - this whatever-it-is is Noticeably absent from my life, and I Have Decided that whoever dealt out these particular personality-deuces had better be dealing out a few aces SOON.

it...began...this way....

i am Not a morning person. in fact, it is probably More Accurate to say that in the morning i'm not a person. Several people close to me have, at one time or another, made the near-fatal error of mistaking my outward resemblance to a human for a Real proximity, when in fact, what is moving within the confines of my Previously inhabited flesh is no more than a rude collection of synaptic patterns, and maybe not even that.

Second only to the pig in my life as a sign of divine malignancy, tracey IS, of course, a morning person. considered mathematically, She is a 'less-than', I am a 'greater-than'. Musically, we are discrescent. Now, i understand that this phenomena, however perverse, is quite Common among married couples. and, in my humble opinion, she is perfectly welcome to subject her own body to those sick and twisted hours of awakening. i have perfected temporary catatonia, and there is no earthly way to disturb me at six o'clock in the morning.

the pig, however, is no Earthly force. while the verdict is not yet in as to which metaphysical power is involved, tracey and i (both in our own special way) Know that someone out there is responsible. and the Pig - that is, 'Snuffle, our inimitable and oh-so-effluvient hog' gets up at 4:00 in the morning.

Now, it wasn't always this way, of course. When the pig arrived in our abode, he slept nearly all the time. adapting to our patterns, and through the use of his powerful little brain, he soon deduced that two meals appeared per day, and the first of these appeared in his bowl through the vehicle of 'MOM', First Thing In The Morning. But Snuffle, you must remember, is hungry ALL OF THE TIME. i am convinced that pigs think about food even More than pubescent males think about SEX! Soooo....Naturally, he would want to modify the occurrence of 'First Thing In The Morning'. you must understand that from a pig's perspective, if 8:00 in the morning is a good time to eat, then 7:00 is an Even Better time to eat. (heck, why not just eat 'On the Hour' as a matter of policy? and if so, why not on the minute? why stop eating, after all?) but i digress. the point is, that tracey, who has never been very good at saying No to someone she loves (which May be why she's ended up with me...), allowed herself to be trained by the pig. with calculated precision, the agonized "i'm starving" squealing started up earlier and earlier in our home, until eventually 'First-Thing-In-The-Morning' reached the chaste hour of 4 am.

then, tracey went away.

so here i am, 2 hours after going to bed, sending out little tendrils of unconscious process into deep-sleep, trying to make that healthy leap into the char-woman's arms, when i begin to dream of people trapped in skyscrapers, all of whom have somehow managed to simultaneously telephone me and are screaming their terror into my brain. the battle between my char-woman's broom and the pig is short-lived (as he simply eats it), and i am forced into the awareness that i either submit to the sausage demon or endure
hours of squeal-tormented half-sleep. i maintain no delusions about training the pig in tracey's week-long absence. the pig wins. i may leave my consciousness in the bed but my body gets up at 4:00 in the morning.

it was sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of over-microwaved coffee searing my palm that i got the great idea of taking Snuffle for a BIG WALK. with only the faintest tinge of malicious thought, given the circumstances, i envisioned a lengthy and purposeful jaunt, invigorating and enlivening, across the great divide (the road) and into the pleasant environs of the university campus. ahhh...i could almost smell the fresh scents of the forest wafting out at me as I, trotting pig obediently matching my step, take a journey of unprecedented depth and breadth. Oh, i would wag this feat before tracey's timidity (she always got nervous as we approached the road and forced us to go back)! "See?" i saw myself saying to her returning ghost, "he just needed a little encouragement. a little impetus. just a tad of force to make him overcome his fears. what is there to fear but fear itself?" my self-inflated stature was, by this point, immense. but not to worry, it was balanced by my reason's minisculinity.

the enterprise began well enough. Snuffle, as you may already know, Prefers to do the doo outside. the morning is also a choice time for bowel activity with the pig (a cross-species feature, in fact). as proof of his willingness, he let me place the harness upon him without the prerequisite treat-enticement! i secured the harness tightly, anticipating the possible need for a few dominant tugs and not wanting any possibility of the pig worming his way out and bolting, and we stepped out into the fateful morning air.

snuffle immediately set down to doing his business as if this was the purpose of our venture, but I, filled with a sense of purpose, quickly convinced him of otherwise. in fact, the pig seemed very willing to 'heel' and we made a Direct Path - without stopping, without passing go, without collecting 200 pounds of dirt - to the lights at the corner. the world was universally quiet & tranquil, and i felt a stirring of tenderness within my befuddled heart toward this little piglet who had clearly never been given any chance to be obedient. the light was red when we arrived and i Could have crossed, there being no traffic at such an early hour, yet i chose to wait for the green light, to teach my pig the proper rules of the road. snuffle sat beside me with an almost dog-like charm. the light turned green. i walked into the road, and was jerked to a halt at length of the leash. the pig sat still.

the pig and i considered one another. i, standing in the middle of the road, under the threat of an impending signal-change (of course there was no danger, but it still pressed upon my psyche: 'in ten seconds you will be legal road-kill'), the pig planted on the sidewalk, safe. "Come on, Snuffle." say i in a melodious and charming tone intended to soothe the fearful little piglet, and apply an Encouraging little force to the leash. the pig puts down roots into the ground, stares hard at me through two little black eyes and effectively communicates his feelings upon the subject. drop dead.

when the light changed to red and i became open season to marauding hitandrunmen i unveiled Plan B. in one pocket i had the shit bag with an appropriate complement of pick-up paper towels. from out of the other pocket of my stylish jacket i revealed a large, glossy and pungent apple. in fact, i had Two such apple prepared, with slits cut in them to let more apple smell seep out into the morning air. "oh ho!" said i as the pig's ears perked up and his nose started twitching, "you Know what this is, don't you. it's a Delicious Apple, snuffle! and it's for you! all you have to do is come and get it. come on. goood boooy." powerless in the face of his primary brain, the pig put one leg gingerly over the edge of the curb, his nose sticking way out into the road already. as he inched forward, i moved at the end of the leash backward until i reached the other side, then i put the apple down of the sidewalk. yes, i admit it now, as i looked down upon him devouring that first apple on the Far Side of the Road, i took pride in outwitting my pig.

the Big Walk was not All about me. the campus ground would contain, i was sure, a wealth of new smells, tastes - experiences for little snuffle. there was wonderfully well-kept grass, for example. Tons of landscaping. New dirt. i was sure of my victory now that the Road had been successfully breached. And, of course, i had another apple for the return trip. so, with the disappearance of that tasty morsel into my little food-processor, i boldly led the way onto the campus grounds. snuffle happily followed along, came to the first field, and wouldn't be budged.

you see, i wasn't wrong, unfortunately. it was in the first field that snuffle discovered something so engrossing, so all-consuming, so delicious (in a word) that he was transported beyond any other sensory awareness. they were little tiny black pebbles, which decorated the lawn. they were little...soft...pebbles. there is a large population of rabbits which inhabit the campus. they have no natural predators, and the university only restricts their numbers through the issuing of public notices twice annually to the effect that any help with the population problem would be appreciated. accordingly, twice annually a great number of people eat rabbit stew and such like. the rabbits have no sort of collective memory of the purgative reapings, and so roam freely, dropping their stool in a light carpet all over the campus grounds. the squeamish stay to the regularly-swept walkways. well, rabbit turd is, by all appearances, the greatest delicacy my pig has ever discovered. and it is all thanks to my obsessive determination to vault the great Road-hurdle that he discovered it. when i discovered what it was he was eating i decided that he was NOT going to Eat That Stuff, that it made me want to gag, and that he was coming with me This other way. in a 'not-to-be-trifled-with authoritarian voice, i commanded, "Snuffle, Come!" and pulled on the leash. The pig would not budge. my commands increased in volume and i pulled as hard as i could on the leash and he didn't move. planting his legs against the direction of my force, his little hooves sank into the soil like tent-pegs, and i realized that i would be forced to break those legs before he would move. neither was he silent throughout this mistreatment. squealing, gyrating his head side to side (still chewing upon his last morsel of rabbit excrement candy), the pig exerted his dominance over me.

and it would have been a stalemate had it not been for the dog. you see, i thought that no one in their Right Mind would be up at that ungodly hour in the morning (some 5 or 6 o'clock by this point), but it would appear that i was wrong, for a very small woman was walking her very large killer attack dog in our immediate vicinity at that very moment. now, i don't know what impelled the woman to follow her dog's insistence that they go check out that squealing piggish-tasty noise, nevertheless that is what she did. naturally, the moment this behemoth caught actual sight of my pet he broke into a rabid frenzy. i imagine that the dog must have thought that this was the luckiest day of it's suburban life. snuffle and i saw the dog coming across the lawn like a nightmare. to me, it was one gigantic muscle hurling toward my little sausage-piglet; an enormous, drool-splattered fanged mouth that was coming across the lawn like an enormous carnivorous baseball.

although snuffle was originally on the Dog side of me, he immediately bolted at full velocity on a tangent course. when he reached the end of the leash, he circumscribed a full circumference and ended up on the far side of me, pulling on the leash with incredible power. i am sure that it was only because i was equally pumping with adrenaline that i was not entirely bowled over and dragged across the lawn by my 35-pound pet.

what happened next can not be properly replicated by text, of course. it all happened far too quickly. however, after about five seconds of absolute chaos, this is how the situation was: i was holding the pig over my head, screaming at the top of my lungs (something which was supposed to be, "Get that Dog away from my pig before I KILL it!", but which i think in actual fact was more like, "AAUURGH!! PIG! KILL KILL KILL!") the dog was fighting it's owner to come and pay me back for the boot i had applied to it's side, the woman was screaming at me in a shrill high-pitched voice something about my ill-treatment of her pet and and about suing me (i think) while trying desperately to attach the monster's leash, and the pig was making every attempt at communication impossible by emitting a squeal of mythic proportions, while bleeding profusely out of a bitten leg and defacating squarely upon me.

a few minutes later, the dog and woman gone and me still trying to comfort my pig with the second apple, campus security rode up on their bicycles. one of them says, "it really IS a pig!" and i hear the unspoken words "squealing like a stuck pig" loud as day.

oh lord, remove this cup from me...

well, snuffle's ok. that's the main thing. i carried him, kicking and screaming all the way home and cleaned us both up. i have apologized to him. i have thrown my jacket away. i have learned my lesson: obey thy pig.

[Nedward Underhill]

allRight...because this happens so Rarely, i thought you'd be interested in the contents of a little conversation which i overheard the other day. it was a small dialogue between two characters i can't seem to divorce myself entirely from: myself & GOD. enter Stage Left...

from where we invisibly float, we can see the approach of a small downpourish world even before we see troy approaching. as usual, he is staring downward. knowing as we do, we are not tricked into thinking he is carefully placing his steps (so as to spare any one of his various mothers' back, and himself from the implicit guilt...). neither are we fooled into thinking he is attempting to develop that hunchbackian posture which is all the rage these days. nO nO; troy is (as usual) convincing himself that he is carrying the weight of a rather pig-laden world upon his shoulders. the truth, however, is obvious from our perspective: it is the figure walking beside him, the one with the mischievous grin pretending to be his shadow, who is carrying those tempestuous clouds in his mock-waiterly palm. troy, however, is particularly convinced that he is carrying the heavens today, and perhaps for this reason, the shadowy figure decides that troy could use a little visit. Consequently, troy's shadow runs on ahead and transforms into the father-figure which he knows troy enjoys casting upon him: a great big bulky fellow with large lips, an imitative hunched walk, and a great big sign on his back saying "YES, I AM GOD AND IT IS ALL MY FAULT". the newly re-created GOD expands to fill the entire sidewalk and walks slowly towards troy. predictably, and also as usual, troy slams right into him.

urghmph! oops. sorry. (pause) um.

(GOD stares at troy)

um.

(troy attempts to look Through GOD. finds that he cannot. tries again.)

(GOD steps off the path, but stares fixedly upon troy with the patented 'YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME, DON'T YOU?' expression which has been so successful in the past with this particular problem-child. of course it works.)

seeing on how i've bumped into you (troy begins) i was wondering if i could talk to you about something?

OF COURSE, MY SON. (thinks: 'big deep voice, big deep voice. he likes that.')

now...i'm just...well, it's like this. you know how you gave us that pig...i mean snuffle. you know the one: ...uh...he's little, black, poops alot...he's our pig.

I KNOW ALL, MY SON.

right. i knew that. umm...kind-of forecloses our conversation doesn't it? in fact, i'm not sure why i'm talking to you about this...

(GOD thinks: 'uh oh, here he goes. better interrupt now before he wanders into himself entirely...') I ENJOY YOUR TALKING TO ME. TELL ME YOUR TROUBLES.

right. (pause) ok then. (pause) do you mind if we walk? i'm really going somewhere...

(GOD ignores the lie. HE and i begin to walk together; me in front, on the path and GOD slightly behind on the grass. GOD momentarily transforms into Sigmund Freud, winks at us, and then morfs back into the big gallunk again. he leaves no footprints.)

ok. you know that pig? well, you know how i wrote all those stories about him? of course you do. well it just that...i want to just say that i wasn't serious about hating the pig. now, i know that it might have seemed like it, a bit, when i was grabbing him in that mad frenzy and screaming POOP IN THE BOX, DAMMIT, IN THE BOX! IN THE BOX! BOX BOX BOX! and i probably exaggerated... you know... in those stories about walking him and his...you know...defecation and all, but i Really don't hate the pig. when i said 'i hope you're a roast in hell' i wasn't...uh...serious. it was a...joke. you know, roast...pig, roast pig. anyhoo...what the heck am i doing talking to you anyway? your not even real.

I'M NOT GOING TO TOUCH THAT ONE. GO ON ABOUT THE PIG.

well, i just can't understand why you seem to have taken me so...seriously. i mean, cancer? uh...it's not like i'm questioning your divine plan or anything, but how Can a 4-month-old pig have menanoma?

MELANOMA.

whatever. that bad thing. i mean, what could he have possibly have done to deserve such a fate? (pause) pooping on the rug just Doesn't Seem to be that Serious a Crime...to me. you must have all kinds of nasty...bad creatures, whom you could have cut down. mutant cockroaches. humans. nasty bacteria... created by perverted humans... that serve no purpose. i can't see any reason why you've struck out at My pig except because i made some bad jokes about him. because i pretended that he got attacked by a dog... to satisfy my own sadistic fantasies...and to make a few people laugh, maybe.

(GOD says nothing, letting troy squirm a little more. he maintains a very knowledgeable Look, however.)

ok. this is my punishment, isn't it? yousee..yabut... but Wait a Second. this is a...this is annnnn Autonomous Pig. it's not Fair to do this. didn't you think of him...when you concocted this punishment...not that i want to get cancer...i mean, if it's got to hit Someone in the family, you've got the Right Member. yes. Very good choice in that regard. but, was this really necessary? but i've got off track.

YES?

(troy takes a deep breath) what i wanted to say to you was: if you thought i was serious, i wasn't. i don't really expect snuffle to be anything but an independent food-processor. he's a pig. he eats, sleeps, and does those...piggy things which i'm sure you've heard enough about already. ok. is this clear. am i making Any sense.. at all... to you?

YES.

are you going to enlighten me?

NO.

great. i'm seriously demented. not only do i talk to myself, now i'm angry at myself for not answering...
fine. but seeing as i've come this far into my dementia, just let me say one more thing. can you get the cost down a bit? because, if this pig is just going to kick off anyway, it would alot easier to maintain a..you know...Giving disposition towards him if we didn't necessarily have to pay...so much... can you pull a few strings, or something, and get us free Medicare or something? because it's only money, but $200 an operation is kind of a...kind of a...challenge, lets say, to us little people down here on earth...well, me and tracey, anyway. you probably wouldn't understand. i mean, of Course you understand, it's part of the omnipotent package, i understand, but... you might not have been there yourself...

(GOD GLARES at troy. troy shrinks.)

ANYway...i just thought...i uhh...nothing...nevermind. we've got tons of money...i mean, it's obviously a Test, right? it uhhh...that ummm...thing...you meant it to BE and uhhh...it's good. very good. the money's no problem. really. (troy smack his head under the realization that he is attempting to lie to an omnipotent GOD). can we strike the whole last bit?

ahhh...i...i need to be going, now...



as troy runs away, the BIG DADDY GOD melts back into his shadow-form and runs along beside him...

PS- it's true. snuffle has cancer. he developed a lump, we had it removed (at the price of $200) and studied, and have been informed that he (and we) are in fact the victim of some cruel cosmic joke. we have of course, already committed our hearts to him: trading him in for a non-defective model is, unfortunately for our already scarred psyches, no more available than trading in our daughter... SO we wait, and watch for it's return (with dread), or more often, try to convince ourselves that its Just Gone...evaporated like pee on the couch. tracey prays for the poor little guy.

[Nedward Underhill]

sorry to those of you who have been treated to a rude silence for the last week or so. Catastrophy struck, and i've only now stopped reeling enough too collect my thoughts. go ahead...read on and find out, but be warned: this is a Biggiemail and may require print-out sit-down treatment....


Chapter 5 of the pig saga: the Great Deluge

Part Primus: it's the End Of The World as we know it, but the pig Feels Fine...

the question still remains whether i'm far enough away from these events to write. (am i still wet behind the ears?) and the problem with Proximity is that it makes it hard to laugh...
.
.
.
(deep breath)
.
.
...It Was One Week Ago that all the fountains of the great deep burst forth---we were grocery shopping at the time. ...no, i've got to back before that... let me rather begin with: All Last Year, tracey and i frequented the laundry facilities located in the small communal building behind our townhouse. the only Clear reason why we made such frequent visits to this particular facility was in order to pay homage to the great god of human stupidity (which we all, sinners that we are, Erect in our own image. well, at least all us Men Erect it, perhaps women Dig it...i wouldn't know...) for, of course, to describe this particular house of worship as 'a place to wash and dry one's clothes' would be a patent LIE. it is, to this very day, a 'laundry facility' in the High Laundry tradition, with a Great Congregation - nay, a Steady Stream, an Unmitigated Deluge, an Enormously Fat Camel - of laundry passing through that eye of the storm on a weekly basis...with no clear purpose. to (fictitiously) give us all some dignity, WE, the honourable members of an affluent society of students, were collectively involved in making generous donations to some Destitute and oh-so-Needy Owners. My family's weekly tithe (at $1.25 per (supposed) 'wash' & $1.25 per 45 minute 'dry' (so-called)), averaged at $10 to $15. Still, we Gladly paid such a price for wash-stained, damaged, dank clothing (just out of the 'drier' (so-called), and ideal for decorating floors) because we were thereby spared the terrible price of purchasing a washer and drier which we couldn't possibly afford. yes, you Are seeing the flaw in this logic (so-called).No Need to get your pocket calculator out, i have the figures right here:

$10/week = $40/month = $480/year
$15/week = $60/month = $720/year

to add insult to stupidity, our suite was designed with a little alcove upstairs in the bathroom, with all the hook-ups, pipes, taps and vents necessary to have an in-suite laundry facility of our Own (can you imagine? Worship in our own house! and it's not even considered Sacrilegious...probably because of the depraved and indulgent liberal attitudes which are tearing the Very Fabric of society apart in these times...). NeverTheLess, i weekly crusaded into that sacrosanct chamber to wage ritualized war with Laundry-Puller-Outers in the name of Less Hassle and inserted my tithes in a manic frenzy of Can'tAffordItedness.

This year we bought a pig.

i have come to the conclusion that the ownership of a pet should be considered as a sign of a Rampant sadomasochistic Poverty-fantasy. perhaps the Pet Enterprise is the great government conspiracy which the masses know to be a reality but can never seem to find. Forget the automobile industry, this is the REAL backbone of our capitalistic society. this is how the state keeps us in line...keeps us dependent and belittled, impoverished by a psychological perversion which is SO Inbred that we consider it a Healthy -- no, a preRequisite manifestation of love. here's a partial list:

SNUFFLEBUCK LOSTLIST: (aka: 'you want to buy a pig? read this first')

start-up costs / initial outlay / the first big hit:

- $200.00 for said pig (purchase price (a bargain!))
- $15.00 pig-litter box (forced to purchase large, lowset tupperware container because cat-litter boxes have sides which his little piglet legs cannot surmount...)
- $10.00 large bag of saw-dust to fill said pig litter box. causes me to sneeze, is discarded.
- $10.00. 2 small plastic food dishes (@ $5.00/each)
- $4.00 (approx.) on several attempts at pig-toys (ignored)
- $5.00 harness (smallest size, slightly adjustable)
- $10.00 small bag of Masuri Grower Direct pig food. piglet wont eat. hides under the toilet and won't come out. is finally coaxed out (day 2) when calyn drops a hostess potato chip (pickle-flavour). pig is fed entire bag of potato chips by tracey & calyn
- $1.00 one bag (1/2 box) hostess pickle chips
- $175.00 visit to the vet clinic (note in the log the coterminous loss of one of swinal claim upon rampant masculinity, as well as the loss of any likelihood of any little snuffles...). includes castration, boosters, vaccines, handshake with vet, ointment for regular bowel delivery and skin cream for that nasty case of sunburn from the farm...
- $30.00 small travel-box (pet-transport) for trip to vet. handle breaks.
- $25.00 deluxe bag of cat litter (scented). with the discovery of the pig's disinclination to avoid stepping in his own feces, as well as the truly cataractic flow of pee issuing on a daily basis, we 'decide' to change snuffle's box daily. volume of cat-litter usage Very high.
- $20.00 litter-catching, rubberized, super-extra-large floor mat for snuffle's food & litter corner of the kitchen. tracey slows down to cleaning Only 3 times/day. nervous breakdowns also set to half speed. (debatably the Most Important purchase.)
- $5.00 'bankie' (blanket)
- $15.00 set of tin bowls with sturdy stands, in attempt to slow the pigs desire to overturn ever meal and spread it around the kitchen before/while eating it.
- $4.00. new toy attempts (ignored). instead, snuffle chooses my shoes.
- $1.00 raw-hide chew toy. considered a Sure Success toy until the realization hits in that it might well be made of Pig. is thrown in garbage without snuff-test.
- $10.00 medium-sized harness. pigs really do grow That fast.
- $5.00 leash
- $25.00 bag of Masuri grower (50 lbs)
- $10.00 large bag of alfalfa hay (for eating and playing)
- $25.00 kiddie gate (cheap. doesn't stay on the wall.)
- $2.00 brush
- $20.00. third and final set of food-dishes. ceramic. enormous. weighing in at 10 lbs each. can be pushed around the kitchen but not tipped.
- $3.00 pooper-scooper
- $20.00. LARGEST cat-litter box.

TOTAL: $650.00


ongoing costs / what we're In for / the regular hit:

- $25.00/mo. Masuri Grower Direct pig feed
- $25.00/mo. animal bedding as pig-litter (paper pellets instead of clay cat litter. a Great find, bringing our monthly litter costs down from the initial $40.00permo)

TOTAL: $600.00/year

unwelcome surprises (so far):

- $60.00 new shoes for troy (hidden up at the top of the closet when not in use)
- $25.00 rug-doctor rental to remove carpet-stains after litter-training is successfully navigated.
- $15.00 replacement broom (super-durable variety) when tracey breaks the first one (head cracks from over-use)
- $100.00 jacket (loss of), when shat upon during Journey Across the Road.
- $50.00 veterinary inspection of unusual lump on snuffy's leg.
- $200.00 Largest Size Pet-Transport. purchased for upcoming operation when snuffle will stay overnight. arguably a necessary expense, but remains in this category as long as i remain Surprised by the price. remains indefinitely.
- $200.00 operation (includes removal of lump and diagnostic test.)
- Overlooked out of Generosity: chewed pencils, furniture, cassette boxes, 'Polly Pocket' dolls, etc.

WORKING TOTAL: (not less than) $650.00

GRAND TOTAL: i don't even want to think about it.


perhaps it wont surprise anyone when i humbly suggest that we could no longer afford NOT to buy a washer & drier.

used, of course.

i picked up a paper and looked for something within the price range of FREE and $150.00. that is, i Looked for a FREE washer and drier set, and managed to find a lively couple advertised for $120.00.

Now, anyone in their Right-Mind knows that a washer and drier for that price are going to be broken in some way. as we were engaged in purchasing Used appliances, the applicability of any notion of right-mindedness is clearly Debatable, Still, i walked in the door of that Nice Suburban Home determined to discover the Brokeness. it was easy. the Nice Suburban Owners pointed it out: the drier squeaked, and badly. troy thinks: "ah! squeaky drier. most likely a loose belt. No Problem." troy offers the said $120.00 with the proviso that the strapping young Nice Suburban Grandfather deliver the said product and help install it. the deal is struck and Viola, tracey and i funeralize 120 of our hard-earned studentloan-dollars and simultaneously become the proud parents of twin BayCrest laundrifiers, putrid green, with a squeak.

we discussed the next step carefully, and at length. i was in flavour of purchasing a large rubber band from the Bay and performing the drier autopsy myself. tracey suggested that i had clearly lost the in-all-event-arguably-non-existent remainder of my mind and called the repairman. the next day a very nice mechanical type, missing only half of one finger, walked into my house, up the stairs to the Newly-Created bathroomlaundromat and informed me that not only had i been stupid enough to purchase a thirty-year-old washer&drier set (me: 'but they told us they were 10 years old!' him: 'can't you tell the Difference between a ten year old set and a thirty-year-old set?' my brain: 'ummm. guess not.') for which parts were no longer available, but i had managed to get a drier with a corroded drum-housing which squeaked. the squeak involved the grinding of metal on metal, which resulted, according to this expert, in a fine mist of metal shards being deposited upon every load of laundry passing through. i decided to pay him $50.00 to go away, which he happily did. he never looked at the washer.

Such was the Scene on the Fatal Evening of the deluge: the washer and drier were sitting upstairs quietly awaiting our departure, their oral-discharge-green coloring hidden behind a sliding door. Unaware of their disgruntled state-of-appliance at being foisted upon us -- an Obviously Young couple (with a Child, no less!) who Not Only had no appreciation for what was once considered a perfectly Regal appliance-colouration, but who were evidently intent on working them Hard after 30 years slave-labour, just as they had begun looking forward to retirement -- we blithely set off across town to SAVE-ON-FOODS, to save that extra penny by purchasing BULK margarine (et al). whether it was panic, anger, or just advanced senility i will never know, but as we drove away in our (beloved) jalopy, that overlooked washing machine began to pee on the floor of the upstairs bathroom.

we left our house at 4:00 in the afternoon and returned just before 8. judging by the very real existence of Lake House by the time of our return, it is quite likely that the washing machine actively engaged in voiding it's bowels during the entire span of those 4 hours. spewing forth from the exploded hose with incredible force, the water spread outward from the bathroom in All directions but principally flowed downhill, into caly's room, saturating the paper-mache floor in short order, and settled upon the downstairs kitchen linoleum as a sort of Center-of-Operations for the duration of these wet-works. At about 7:15, our attached neighbor noticed water coming through the wall into her kitchen and called Campus Security. half an Hour (100 gallons?) Later -- and, incidentally, about 5 minutes before our arrival -- two burly fellows arrived to Deal with the problem.

in those few minutes preceding our arrival, several momentous occurrences took place. First of all, the security officers forcibly entered what was now our faux-aquarium, did Valorous Battle with the insane appliance, and once again asserted human ascendancy over the mechanical world by successfully shutting off the cold-water tap. Their primary objective achieved, those soggy security officers contacted Lee, the landlord. it being 8:00 on a friday night, lee took the only course of action available to someone who does like working weekends: he called Steam King Cleaners and told them to take care of his problem, then proceeded to deactivate his cellular, unplug his home-phone, and generally make himself scarce -- in a nut-shell, lee did Not sacrifice his precious dose of week-end catatonia for the sake of our petty problems. Third, and finally, the Wet Knights began wandering aimlessly, surveying the wreckage and looking for us.

oh yes, and i should mention that they saw the great black whale that inhabited our aquarium. Snuffle, the land-fish. the Great Pig that got in the way.

[Here Endeth Part Primus of the Great Deluge saga. i, your illustrious narrator and aquatic travel guide, invite you to have a break, grab a bite to eat of something dry (crackers, perhaps?) and take a (nother) deep breath before diving into Part Secondus, "the 40 Days and 40 Nights that were the rest of our life".]

[Nedward Underhill]

comfy? hot chocolate / bromoselter in hand? all right then, we proceed....


Chapter 5 of the pig saga: the Great Deluge

Part Secondus: the 40 Days and 40 Nights that were the rest of our life

when last we left our intrepid band of heroes, they were approaching the waterlogged remains of their domicile, congratulating themselves on Saving so many pennies at SAVE-ON-FOODS, engaged in a heated debate about what they were going to make for dinner, and generally reveling in a state of ignorance. in the back of their minds, perhaps they even entertained fantasies of using that New Used washing-machine later that very evening, not even to wash any clothes but simply for the thrill of ownership. yes, Proud little capitalists they, with their environmentally friendly cloth shopping bags surrounding them, were the very picture of aspiring yuppie puppies. little did they know that nature itself had turned against them, had already urinated upon them with a 300 Gallon stream...

as tracey and i pulled babs (the car) up to our allotted portion of pavement and stepped out, we were approached by two Large, noticeably Damp policey types. the conversation went something like the following:

BOB (campus security unit 1): (speaking loudly in the dark while shining a flashlight in our eyes) ARE YOU THE RESIDENTS OF UNIT NUMBER 801?

(my mind: what are we being caught for? who is this? should we prepare to fight? put that flash-light away, there's a streetlight right above us! don't answer, lips! find out what they're after.)

my lips: uhhhh...

tracey: yes, we live in 801. is something wrong?

DOUG (campus security unit 2): WELL MA'AM, YOU'VE HAD A BIT OF A WATER PROBLEM IN YOUR HOME.

(my mind: what? where? why? water? Water? speak up, idiot. don't just stand there with your mouth open. we're Not in trouble! i think. don't quote me on that.)

tracey: (panic rising) a Water problem? is it serious?

me: (spoken with authority) Yes.

BOB: IT'S A FLOOD, MA'AM.

DOUG: SEEMS LIKE A PROBLEM WITH YOUR WASHING MACHINE. I SHUT IT OFF.

me: (now matching BOB & DOUG's volume successfully and stepping forward) YES.

tracey: a Flood! Oh My God! MY BABY!!!! (tracey drops the groceries she was carrying and tears off towards the house to save the land-fish from drowning, or worse, being scared)

the groceries: huh? wha? -smashspillbumpashwumph-

BOB: (speaking to me. tracey is already out of earshot.) YOUR PET'S OK. THAT'S ONE OF THEM POT-BELLIES ISN'T IT?

me: (taking matters in hand now) THAT PIG? OH YES, WE'RE KEEPING THAT FOR SOME FRIENDS OF OURS...JUST FOR THE WEEKEND OF COURSE. POOR LITTLE GUY. MY WIFE IS VERY COMPASSIONATE, YOU KNOW...


in those few seconds, tracey and i navigated our way through an abrupt transition into our own personalized versions of Crisis Mode. i retreated rapidly into a state of disembodied lucidity (and began lying). tracey hyperventilated. as we stood in the middle of our Inverted Ark, with water up to our ankles, listening to BOB retell the Tale of DOUG and the Washer-Dragon (DOUG having gone home to change), what would have been clear to anyone watching the scene was how neither of us heard a word BOB was saying. tracey had collapsed upon the couch and was chanting a mantric "ohmygod" while holding her Precious Pig with a desperate protective instinct which Almost woke him (to this day, i believe that, if left to himself, snuffle might have successfully slept through the entire affair), and while my body made quietly encouraging grunts toward BOB the bard, i was quite clearly undergoing an out-of-body experience:

.....in front of me, all my worldly good were melting into a watery form, and slipping through the cracks in the floor never to return...except the pig, which only turned into a water-filled balloon and proceeded to get stuck in a crack, his front end pinched tiny and his rear an enormous hairy black bubble, with two little legs sticking out.....

at 11::00 pm 2 Steam King Cleaners arrived with 2 industrial-sized dehumidifiers, 3 enormous inverted hairdryers (referred to as 'Blowers'), and various weapons of home destruction such as an assortment of crowbars (used most), screwdrivers (used least), hammers, pliers, pruners, pokers, smashers, crunchers and munchers. this was the husband and wife team you wouldn't want to be paired-off with at a square-dance or arm-wrestling match, for fear of having your arms accidentally removed. sheltered as i am from the world of muscle-building, i have never seen such biceps on a woman Up Close. these two figures entered my home like the tazmanian devil & his mate, all upper-body and high-speed motion. in the wake of their path lay an ever-increasing pile of wreckage. trying to stay out of the way of flying debris (such as the contents of my daughter's room), and emitting ineffectual epithets such as "excuse..", "if you...", "now maybe..", "a moment..." and the like, i watched in amazement as what i had previously considered immovable objects were effortlessly torn up and tossed out of the path of the water-wreckage -- that is, into the master bedroom and the study -- until almost the entire contents of our house were somehow compacted into these two small rooms. then, with a redoubled intensity of destruction, the under-padding of the carpets were torn up and tossed outside, dozens of holes were drilled into the walls, even the ceiling, bowing under the weight of saturation, was ripped open with the use of a large spiked rolling-pin-on-a-stick which was clearly designed for just such a purpose, and the Blowers were switched on. suddenly, the gentle dripping which had been our constant companion was swallowed up by a controlled hurricane howling inside my house. it was as if we had suddenly decided that we had always wanted to live right behind three jet engines undergoing repairs. shoved underneath the tattered remains of our carpets, the whole floor rose up in a sick imitation of the Moon-Walk ride (which is not really a ride at all, is it?) at a fair. the whole operation took just under 2 hours.

not that i didn't have my Say. You see, in my crisis-induced state of lucidity, i recognized that these were not really People walking around my house but rather roaming $ signs, which had been instructed to enter my Non-Insured domicile without my consent, and who were (i strongly suspected) harbouring the delusion that this back-breaking late-night work was making them some Big Bucks. they didn't seem to know that i only made acquaintance with that particular commodity within the contexts of History and Fantasy. in desperation, i threw myself in the Taz's way (or his wife's, i can't remember) shouting "Stop! Stop! I Can't Pay You!" slowing down long enough to consider my words, s/he answered, "i work for lee. this is lee's property. i'm gonna do the work." well, that was that, as clear as a bell: it was lee's property. lee Would pay. quite right. Then, i knew, lee would come after me.

wife-of-taz was, by the way, quite Taken with 'da littl pig' on the couch. while carrying the couch across the room (with tracey and the pig -- inseparable throughout this whole process -- riding), she stuck up a conversation with tracey about pigs which had, if i remember correctly, Very Little to do with how good eating they make. tracey was even drawn momentarily out of her catatonihysteria by such gentle verbal prodding and spoke passionately about pig-ownership from the elevated position of her couch-litter. all too soon, however, we were left alone in our once-was-home, serenaded by the incessant blast of 3 Blowers Blowing, to the mock-ballet of carpets billowing, and an empty feeling in our heart strings (dumDumDUM Dumdum DumdumDum dum.)

the blowers blew for 2 days and three nights (it really Should have been 40, but Noah was of Much Hardier Stock ...We Never would have made it...), during which time we lived among the piles of possessions in the master-bedroom (necessitating a Climbing Entry and Exit), ate straight out of the refrigerator, and didn't bathe (the bathtub was full of calyn's toys). we couldn't even go Out, because of 'snuffle's' condition. unable to navigate the stairs, he was relocated to the kitchen, out of the way of the Monstrous Blowers. and he did howl with an impressively convincing fearfulness when tracey left him alone downstairs the first night, for at Least half an hour straight. but by the time i gave in to his (and my wife's) pressure, and went downstairs to 'sit with him', he had taken care of himself by going and finding the couch in the study. finding him asleep (and myself Not in so blissful a state), i went back up and reClimbed into my room with a scowl which precluded any notion of further discussion.

as i lay in my bed, surrounded by a that chaotic accumulation of worldly possessions, my internal lucidity continued on apace. i knew that the Enormous Disruption in our daily routine immediately surrounding us was really No More than an Herring in the tank of our life. swimming in the Shadow of our piled debris were two monsters of the deep: our inability to pay for the work which was spontaneously combusting itself into existence around us, and the ripples expanding in every direction from the moment when our pig was dropped into the pool of general consciousness.

there is...ahem...a NO PETS policy in the lease. it is quite explicit, and comprehensive, and inclusive, and exclusive (etc.). under the heading PETS, it reads: "Having regard to the enjoyment, quiet possession and health requirements of other occupants and future tenants in the residential property, as well as the nature of the property, the Tenant shall not keep, or allow to be kept, any animals or pets, domestic or wild, fur bearing or otherwise blah blah blah...". now, I Knew This when we got the pig. i Knew i was breaking the rules. of course, breaking the rules is one of the things that troys do Best (...theWonderfulthingaboutTroys is troysarewonderfulthings...their heads are madeoutofRubba...). but my solution had been to name the pig after one of the Great Invisible characters of the modern age. of course, i didn't realize that sesame street had violated SnuffleUppagus' Prime Directive several years ago, and that our little bundle of oinks had received No second-hand invisibility At All. it All Comes, i thought to myself (as i have thought Many times before) of not Looking before one Leaps. of having No Consideration for the Ruler's Rules. of pocketing one's head and parading around with a great big pumping heart upon one's neck. how Was i going to weasel my was out of this new crisis?

sloughing off my no longer useful cloud of 'don't talk to me' anger, i struck up a whispered dialogue with tracey regarding the land-fish downstairs. the Best policy now, i argued, was to Lie Like Crazy to as Many people as possible. this didn't fly with my lovely pig-scented wife. you need to understand that tracey and i are just about polar opposites when it comes to questions of The Rules. she has a profound, deep-set, and fundamental (i didn't say naive) faith in The System. god, far from being Exempt, is conceived of in terms of the Ultimate Rule-Master, a Gigantic Santa of Judgment. she lives within a (i didn't say deluded) cosmology of justice. well, if you can imagine that sort of a world, you can Imagine how popular the idea of lying in the face of our wet judgment-day was with her. it would be something like spending your entire life burning down churches and then taking a hand-gun with you into the line-up in front of St. Peter. we're in Enough Trouble Already, she said. that's the Last thing we should be doing now. don't you know our time is Up? we need to Be Good. maybe if we're Good...a Miracle will Happen! it's Never too late. All may yet be Forgiven. Forgotten. Overlooked. she instructed me, in no uncertain terms, to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God. and Blind Faith being the infectious disease that it is, particularly to little squished people, i agreed.

Monday Morning, a steady stream of workers appeared at the door. the floors, walls, and ceiling were inspected for repair by (gag!) Onionized workers who i never called, didn't invite, and wouldn't have chosen. to Each i said the same thing: "we are not insured. we are not paying you." mentioning Insurance was Strictly an attention grabber. an early phone call had ascertained that we renters Cannot Can't NoWay NoHow ever get coverage for damage to the building. still, i found that these ONION workers had a great appreciation for discussions about insurance. and i received the same answer repeatedly: "i'll talk to lee about that." i applauded their Wise Choice, which i agreed was Very Apt given the circumstances, and Appropriate too, and while giving each of them a cookie and some milk, reminded them Not to forget to mention to lee that i wasn't paying for any repairs.

lo and behold, lee calls. fully refreshed after his dry and relaxing weekend, he spoke cheerily about coming to survey our damages.

lee: (innocently) can i come over today?

my brain: NO! THE PIG IS SITTING ON THE COUCH! LIE! YOU'LL BETRAY US ALL! LIE, DAMNIT!

my mouth: certainly. when will you be coming by?

lee: well, i'm not doing anything right now and i'm only five minutes away. i'll just hop on my bike and come right on over.

my brain has been censored at this point for the sake of decency.

my mouth: My! ummmm. well, well. uhhh, Yes! yes, of course. right over. the...house...is in a bit of a...State but...i guess that would be fine. no problem.

lee: fine. -click.-


for 5 minutes i tore around the house in a state of completely useless activity. i put the pig's things outside and then back inside 5 times. i contemplated grabbing the sleeping pig on the couch and running down the street, and might have done it if i had known which direction lee was Not coming from. when the door-bell rang, i settled for piling as many items of clothing on snuffles prostrate form as i could find, and hoped that he would Just Stay Sleeping.

you need to understand how timid snuffle generally is to fully appreciate the perversity of what happened next. although now thoroughly tamed, snuffle is not friendly to strangers. typically, human-pig relations in our house involve the pig trying various desperate attempts to Get Away from the pawing hands of human curiosity. snuffie doesn't come for pats, doesn't rub against your leg -- in fact, unless there is food involved he seems generally content to forget about the rest of the human race (excluding us, his own herd). be that as it may, when lee walked into my house, the pig suddenly came to life. shrugging his cloth bonds, he came straight to the front door, walked right up to lee, and proceeded to chew at his laces for the entire duration of his (abbreviated) visit. i made no reference to him. he did not come up in conversation at all, in fact. we were still dead in the water.

when tracey came home i yelled at her: "look what you've Done! You and your Bloody Truth-Telling! and that Damn Pig! Argh! ARGH!!!" she responded, "i didn't tell you to be honest to Lee!"

during his brief visit, lee had informed me that he was a kind and compassionate individual, and that They, at the office, would work out a payment schedule suited to our financial constraints. that was what they Usually did in circumstances like these, he said. Thank You, i said. thank you very much for your Kindness. good-bye. good-bye.

tracey-BadCop called lee at his office and quoted legal chapter and verse at him, At Length, concluding with, "and if your office is expecting to recover these expenses from us, please be advised that it is our intention to not pay a single penny. i advise you to withdraw all contractors from this residence until such time as this legal matter is concluded.'

no more workers arrived at our door. instead, the next day, we received this notice:

TO: you little squished people

FROM: someone in the office
Rules Division

RE: your achilles heel

Dear Troy,

i have been informed that you have a pet living with you in Family Housing. The pet policy in the Agreement you have signed states:

"Having regard to the enjoyment (etc. etc.).........................................
..........................................................................................
..........................................................................................
..........................................................to the end of time, Amen."

Please remove your pet by Nov. 19th or prepare to die.

Sincerely,

(signed) Big Brother
Big Brother
the BOSS


so that's where we've got to, so far. if you're like me you'll be suspecting that the pig issue is not the Point, so to speak. still, as premises for eviction go, it's completely functional and So Handy...i don't know what they'd do without us. They probably don't know what they'd do without us. Boy! Thanks, Us. ...i mean: Me. waaaaaaaaaaaaah....

[yup. that dribble represents the End of the Second Lesson. have a Seventh Inning Strench.... you deserve it for swimming so far. the third installment, 'the gospel according to watermark' will come as the spirits move...]

[Nedward Underhill]

the gospel according to watermark

we have been subjected to a rash of unseasonably heartless weather recently. snow has been falling...Big, Wet, Teary flakes, the sort you see inside those little kitschy glass-globe toys. the local populace, mostly retirees, stand aghast and shivering in the midst of their Immaculate gardens, Confounded by this damp white blanket - but i'm not surprised. i already knew the world had been turned upside-down.

snuffle has moved out, taking our hearts with him for company (and maybe a light snack)


i admit now that i was completely fooled by tracey when i married her. you see, my two heads were in complete agreement over what sort of wife i needed: someone malleable, starry-eyed (about me), and Drop-Dead Gorgeous. in fact, my simple request was that i be treated like a god. (Now, of course...being so Old and Wise...i no longer Blithely assume my great phallic pedestal. i stand at the bottom of the erection whining, and Blame my unreasonable predisposition to idolatry on my father.) tracey is, in my humble opinion, perfectly well-equipped in the DDG department, and So (logically), the moment i laid eyes upon her, i became determined to find out about the other two Essential Components.

now like many women, tracey is telepathic...either That, or men like me are an open comic book (most likely pornographic - the text is Entirely superfluous). whatever the cause, having perused my at a glance and finding my pictures...i dunno...Entertaining, perhaps, as she approached me, she adopted the appearance of a body entirely devoid of sentiency. as i remember it (with fondness), she walked right up to me, rubbed her body against mine (just like a cat does when it wants something), and said with meticulous enunciation, "Uuuuuhhhhh...". i don't remember much of what happened next, but as i sit here with a wedding band on my finger and a child in my house, i know that i was Entirely convinced by this charade. i truly believed that she was a Dream come true: the Perfect Body without a Mind of its Own.

i don't know how much more wrong about tracey i could have been. i have come to realize (the hard way) that she is not someone to be trifled with. she is not only intelligent, she's frighteningly dangerous. tracey is one of those people who has a very clear understanding of Who is on Whose side. for the uninitiated, let me explain: there are Two sides. standing in This side of the ring and weighing-in precisely at the legal limit are the Good guys. that's us. 'Good-guy status' is quite likely the most valued commodity one can possess around my wife. i have it (although there have been a few close calls...). being a Good-guy means, essentially, that you can do no wrong. even if you do do wrong, you didn't do it, and it wasn't really so bad, and it doesn't matter anyway. you're Good. you're OK, you're IN. in the other corner are the pathetically underweight and despised enemy of humankind, the Bad-guys. the Them. personally, i would prefer to be Dead rather than one of Them in close proximity to my wife with no means of escape. in her confrontations with the Bad-guys of the world, tracey discards teeth and tails for far more effective tools: fangs and railway spikes (with a sledgehammer to drive them in of course).

from the beginning of our watery altercation with the housing authority, i have placed myself securely Behind tracey. fueled by the knowledge that the Bad-guys were descending upon us, she cast off her meek-and-mild housewifean demeanor to reveal her true nature: Valkerie of Housing Apocalypse. she has pow-wowed with the neighbors, scoured and re-scoured the lease in ruthless search of armor-chinks, contacted the Residential Tenancy Board, the Renters' Advisement Committee, and the Department for Paranormal Landlordian Activity (in addition to several other legal organizations i had never even Heard of), involved her professors and class-mates, piled sand-bags by the door, and performed several drive-by telephonings to The Management. as she paces around the house, her armament rattles. on occasion i have in fact found myself feeling sorry (though not Too sorry, i admit) for my Poor landlords, because they have No Idea what is going to hit them the moment they try to take any action against us. for them, this is most likely a frustrating glitch in the great cogs of the tenancy machine, but for us, this has escalated into being a matter of Honour...of Principle...of Life and piggy Death. (if you are wondering where i am in all of this, i'm the little figure behind the Behemoth shouting, "Go tracey Go! Go tracey Go! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! Yeeeaaaaaayyyy Tracey!!!")

regarding Chinks in the said armor of the lease, tracey discovered that pets were not disallowed carte-blanche (which, by the way, is against the law). Instead, immediately after the text detailing the unacceptability of "enjoyment, quiet possession and health" within the confines of these premises, the lease asserts how "the Tenant shall not keep, or allow to be kept, any animals or pets, domestic or wild, fur bearing or otherwise unless specifically permitted in writing by the Landlord." with an impressive display of Batman-logic (the sort he uses to escape the inescapable death-trap), tracey determined that they had in fact Never given consent, and were therefore in legal contravention of the Accommodative Spirit of the law...that there had in fact been no 'Substantial' accommodation to pet-ownership within their premises, and that we could guarantee our successful retention of both lease and pig through an application for Special Privilege status, Rejected or Not. Accordingly, she sat down at the computer and pounded out this tear-jerking story:

October, 1996

Mr. Lee Quiney
General Manager
Housing and Conference Services
University of Victoria

Dear Mr. Quiney :

I am writing to you under the authority of the "pets" clause of our rental agreement. I would like to ask your permission to have a pet in family housing.

In order to lay out the history of why we have a pet, it is important that you know that my family and I moved to Victoria last year so that both my husband and I could attend classes at UVic. We left all of our family and friends behind. This is not an uncommon story; however our family is one that is particularly close. my daughter especially felt the blow of leaving her grandparents, who are her favourite people in the world even still. I too have had a particularly hard time being away from my parents, particularly given the fact that shortly after we moved away, we learned that my mother is very ill.

My husband, being the loving father and partner that he is, wanted to do whatever he could to relieve my daughter and I of our loneliness. Knowing that we both love animals, and that in the past having animals in our life has especially helped me through a difficult period, he purchased a pet for us. Given my daughter's allergies to anything with fur, he opted to purchase a pot-bellied pig, which has hair instead of fur.

Snuffle is about the size of a large cat. He does not shed, as he does not have fur. He has no claws, so he does not tear at the rug or the curtains. He cannot get up the stairs. He goes to the bathroom very cleanly in a litter box which we change every day. He makes no noise at all other than quiet grunts. He is incapable of doing any damage to the unit in which we live.

We recently found out that Snuffle has melanoma cancer. We had the lump removed, but we have no idea when it will come back. Not only do we love Snuffle so much that the thought of parting with him is impossible, but to give him away to a farm (and we can think of no other place to relocate him) will endanger his life, as it is unlikely that anyone will be as alert as we are in checking him for relapses. Further, he has to stay out of the sun, which is virtually impossible on a farm.

We know that we will be moving back to our home town at the end of April 1997. Although I recognize that Snuffle is an unusual pet, I am asking for your permission to remain in this unit until that time. I can guarantee that he will not cause any damage, but to ensure your satisfaction I will happily agree to pay for any damage that you feel is caused by him. Our neighbours are enamoured with Snuffle, and we have met many people who are interested in him and who want to meet him in the complex. Nobody has said anything but good things about him. Although we will move before we have to give up this member of our family, I am appealing to your compassion for an exception to the general rule in our situation. Our daughter has made friends here, and we have managed to establish one or two friendships ourselves. We ask that you allow us to stay here only until the end of April.

In the event that you decide not to grant us permission, I would ask that you give us a list of the criteria which you have used in coming to your decision.

Snuffle is a pet that everyone loves, and that is in no way destructive. I ask you to give serious consideration to our request.

Thank you for your time and attention,

Tracey Harwood-Jones


...(sniff)...O! the Horror! it's just Too Heart-Rending! those Poor little people...(sniff)...

(sigh...)

i just Love that letter. it's like a little soap-opera all by itself, or like pretending a stick is Excalabur. my Favorite part, however, is the demand for criteria hidden like a snake in the text. a single line, lying like a great spiked club behind a heart-broken giant's syrupy fountain of tears. if'n they succumbed to the fountain, great, otherwise we's would Crush 'em when they no givie Just Criterion.

Meanwhile, we began to look for a New residence (just in case). i have to say, however, that i thought the idea of moving out of our albeit damp but otherwise perfectly snug little home within walking distance to school and caly's daycare and the library, with our view of the ocean and the mountains and my internet connection and my study and the dishwasher and caly's next-door-neighbor collection of friends and the close company of academics (University Family Housing...chances are better...), with only five months left before leaving the city...Less than appealing. every once and a while, i would furtively glance in tracey's general direction, looking for an opportunity to propose the possibility...mere Possibility of course...of considering relocating Snuffle rather than Us. there was No opportunity. Snuffle was, of course, one of Us. you just Don't let a man (or pig) down like that. as i went to telephoning duty, i was aware that my general was pledged to go on to the End...to Fight on the Seas and Oceans...to Defend our Pig...Whatever the Cost might Be...and Never Surrender. things did not look good.

born and raised in wintry winnipeg, i have unwittingly, unintentionally, and completely predictably developed a few Prairie concepts regarding what life in a city is like. one of my evidently outdated, provincial notions involves an idea of people living in houses. houses (for the uninitiated) are, for the most part, Biggish Boxy Things with Heat in them, and sometimes Food. people go into them...regularly...for purposes of shelter, community, and for something to do. perhaps it is because one Doesn't Want to be Outside extendedly in a winnipeg climate, which is predominantly winter-like...except when it's too hot..., but in any event, these House things are quite common where i come from. in Fact, winnipeg is in many ways little more than a mass collection of these boxy things. and not only are these boxes Piled and Grouped and Gaggled all over the flat dirty thing commonly referred to as the winnipeg environs, but people regularly, even ritually, vacate themselves from one box, pile all their worldly goods into a smaller, longish boxy thing with wheels, and take up residence somewhere else. this is considered Normal. here in victoria, i have discovered that this narrative...this scenario...is reserved for the elite & affluent, and remains little more than a myth within common parlance; entertaining precisely on account of its distance from reality, like a Great Waspy Whale (with me as Ahab, or perhaps mad Pip). as Canada Student Loan employees, tracey and i pull in In Excess of $7000.00 Per Year...Each! and if that doesn't impress you, just consider that not Only are we living the high-life Now, but we also have to pay it back the moment we quit. even with my fellowship, the idea of spending $1000/month on Rent is an absurdity. all the same, that's the price at which the decent houses...apartments...start. to give you a taste of the properties I was calling, i have saved a couple of choice samples. These are from the University Student Listing Services (designed for impoverished students; the best place to find a bargain...):

AND THE AWARD FOR MOST-FRIGHTENING-RESIDENCY-OF-THE-MONTH GOES TO...

Keys: Y=Yes N=No P=Private use by tenant S=Shared use A=may be Arranged
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AND, SIDSHU APARTMENT Bedrms: 1 Avail: 19961101
2558 QUADRA ST. Rent: $698.00 Furn: YES Until:
384-5666 / SAME Dmg: 350.00 DistKM: Prefer:
Util: Y Pets: N Kitchen: P TV: A Parking: Y Kids: Y Bathroom: P Phone: A
Desk: Y Smoke: Y
APARTMENT BUILDING. ONE BEDROOM SUITE. PARKING.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ZUZU, GIGNAC APARTMENT Bedrms: 2 Avail: 19961104
2049 LENBY ST. Rent: $550.00 Furn: NO Until: 19970610
598-2643/ Dmg: 300.00 DistKM: 10min Prefer: Internatl
Util: N Pets: Y Kitchen: S TV: A Parking: Y Kids: N Bathroom: S Phone: A
Desk: N Smoke: Y
INCLUDES USE OF PIANO W/D UNIT IS FULLY FURNISHED,BUS ROUTE,WASHER &DRYER IN BLDG.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
TODD, BRICK APARTMENT Bedrms: Avail: 9961030
1147 EAGLETON AVE. Rent: $630&UP Furn: NO Until:
383-2211 / 383-2963 Dmg: DistKM: Prefer: quiet res.
Util: Y Pets: A Kitchen: P TV: P Parking: Y Kids: Bathroom: P Phone: P
Desk: N Smoke: Y
1, 2, & 3 BDRMS AVAILABLE. AIR.

i find that the more i look at these three, the more i marvel at their perfection. to draw out a few choice morsels from these excessively lavish feasts of mind-numbing bizarrity, let me accentuate how Mr/s. Sidshu considers PARKING a unique selling feature for a $700/month 1 bedroom APARTMENT BUILDING (another Arresting feature!) which doesn't even include a phone...how (is it fair to guess Mrs.?) Gignac is attempting to rent out a suit which is in the middle of - what - renovations? or is she a rock musician building a studio?...and then there good old Mr. Brick, who appears impressed by the uniquely AIRy quality in his block, not surprising when you consider that he is living in the year 9961 (but is it the 30th day of the 0th month, the 0th day of the 3rd month, or are we into a whole new order of time entirely in the 100th century?)

although i Didn't call any of these numbers, i Did call ones that were similar...they Felt the same, anyway. and it was while i was making my phone calls that i saw an opportunity to begin working on my inflamed wife. adopting as Innocent (a bit of a stretch, i admit) and Confused (Easy...) a demeanor as possible, i quietly asked, "should i tell these people about the pig?" now you see, honesty, while not Absolutely required of us Good-guy-types, is pretty Integral. the implicit lie involved in our original smuggling in the pig had been, of course, conveniently scape-goated upon me (a masochistic role i'm quite willing to take...). however, by asking tracey this seemingly innocuous question, i was in fact making her Responsible for any further Lying...which would cast a little human mud upon her pristine war-boots. of course i Knew tracey desperately wanted me to lie us right into a new home, and by even involving her in the process of the lie (through tacit acquiescence, for example) i would make her uncomfortable. making her Responsible might Just be the lever i needed to wedge the pig out into the open...

it worked.

but the price for my disloyalty was that my glorious Valkerie turned out to be a cut-out paper doll. collapsing into my arms in the kitchen, with a volumous cataract of tears, tracey cried out "but he's my BABY!" and "he would Never FORGIVE US!" and "how could we DO that to him? he wouldn't UNDERSTAND!" (in addition to a great many OHs, AHs, and SNIFFles), and as the tears poured down, the dazzling brightness of that Norse armor bled into a meaningless gray blotch, and the paper sogged right up and fell on the floor in a puddly heap, leaving me with a tiny little girl-mother, desperate to keep her cancer-ridden baby...

i started asking the landlords i was calling how they would feel about a pig in their premises. And i Also started making phone-calls to see if i could find a Good Home for snuffy (a foster-home). i assured her that i'd most-likely Not be able to find someone willing to shelter a pig; "After All" i said, "it's hard Enough finding a home for a Cat or a Dog! Who in there Right Mind would be willing to have a Pig in their house?" ...the argument was frighteningly persuasive... "Besides" i went on, "you Never Know, Lee might Even Now be succumbing to that Irresistibly Persuasive letter you wrote! and if he doesn't write, or rejects us without explanation, we've got him right where we want him, remember?" (slight pause) "you Know, honey, i'm not exactly clear on that issue. could you explain it to me again? how is he breaking the law?" unable to resist the bait, tracey would then launch into a thoroughly self-gratifying diatribe about the Function of Law and the Structure of the BC Housing act, Lee would be repositioned upon his black pedestal with a freshly dusted and polished 'Supreme Evil Being' sign, and all would be Right with the world again (until her next break-down).

no one wanted to rent to us.

i'm convinced that i could have screamed at the top of my lungs that snuffle was quiet, and small, and well behaved, and cute, and intelligent All Day and the landlords i spoke to would Still see Enormous pink behemoths devouring their property. inevitably (whenever i finally gave up trying) the answer was NO. in Fact, on two occasions the landlord didn't know how to tell me that they didn't want him (and, by proxy, us) for a tenant, and simply didn't keep their engagement. tracey and i arranged Baby-sitting to go look at a Promising and Affordable piece of property only to be left waiting on a lonely street, serenaded by the sounds of a freeway and savouring the scents of some kind of Animal factory next door (i didn't want to know), in the rain, for half an hour before i got so mad i forced her to leave. when i called the landlord from home she informed me that she had decided to give the property to someone else. i told her that that was fine with me because the house was on fire anyway and hung up (i Wish!). turning on the tv, i was subjected to an ad which implicitly assumed that keeping a 200 LB german shepherd in a quiet suburban neighborhood was Cute...while my tiny Snuff was the cruel victim of Piggy Prejudice.

on the Evicted Pig front i had more success. one of the Perks of living in a city populated by retirees is that there are an inordinate number of Pet services in town. in addition to the SPCA, our tiny phone book has 10 pages exclusively devoted to PETS. the various yellow categories include: Pet Care Services (in-house and drive thru), Pet Cemeteries & Crematories, Pet Foods, Pet Health Plans, Pet Insurance, Pet Shops, Pet Supplies, Pet Trainers, Pet Transporters, Pet Washing & Grooming, Petroleum products...there is even a Pet Daycare service entitled "Doggy Digs Daycare".

confronted by this overwhelming mass of information, i formed the Cunning Plan of calling up the SPCA and simply crying "HELP!!!" when i did this, a veryniceyounglady put me on Hold, then returned to give me a short-list of possible directions of relief (she had done this before). now my options included:
the Victoria Cat Rescue Aid Society
the Animal Protection League, Victoria Chapter
the Greater Victoria Animal Crusaders
Vocal (an animal right action group)
the Victoria Animal Hospital
the Animal Help Line (a telephone information service)
and
the Nana Foundation.

it was in fact the Nana Foundation which saved our little boy from the life on a farm (and by Proxy saved us from the terrors of moving). truth to tell, the Nana Foundation is not really an Organization, per se. it is One Woman's Heroic Battle against the vicissitudes of PETty life, and the Cruel Injustices which far to often accompany life when considered little more than a household decoration. her name is Tryntje Horne. and the More i phoned and pursued various ping-ponged recommendations, the More her name came up. all of the other so-called Animal aid societies were, in fact, Hypocritical organizations living the Lie that they crusaded for Animals when all they really cared about were Cats, Dogs, and sometimes Birds. Not Pigs. and so, i finally called the mysterious Nana Foundation and discovered Arachne, disguised in human form.

her immaculately maintained little gray house stands just outside the city limits on a perfectly landscaped lot. as i drove up (she insisted upon Meeting me), her volvo sat precisely in the center of the driveway happily reflecting the sun with its freshly washed exoskeleton. inside, the house was filled with hand-crafted objects of every description: embroidered table-cloths, knitted sweaters scarves & mittens, innumerable decorative knick-knacks, woven strands of garlic, bead curtains...and sitting in the center of it all, hands furiously spinning, was the Tryntje: 3 feet tall, black as tar, and about 3000 years old. she was like a little black wrinkle-plant, with two beady eyes staring out from somewhere deep inside, mysterious, and sharp as tacks. she had a little crackly voice, and was saying "i wish i could help your Poor Little Boy! i am going to bermuda next week but...now Who do i know? i'm Sure that i can get you fixed up. no, no, you don't have to pay me, i'm not doing this for Money. you're poor...keep your money!" i proceeded to unravel the entire history of Snuffle the Pig, and she sat in her little chair listening intently, hands furiously working the whole time, as if she was weaving his exploits into the cloth. she must have liked me, for by the time i left her house (though not her web, i believe) i had two phone numbers in my hand, and Trintje personally guaranteed that one of them would find success - and i believed her.

I was feeling more and more positive about our swinal affairs, but when i told tracey about my meeting she didn't look Relieved in the slightest. she was continuing to cling to the desperate fantasy that we would Somehow (even Miraculously) be able to keep snuffy...that housing would Relent, or that we would manage to roll back time itself to a point just before the tragic Deluge and Discovery which had launched the Pig Eviction Guillotine. Unfortunately, it was at this point that we received the ill-Anticipated and Fateful Letter:

TO: the problem pig people

FROM: General Manager, Housing, Food & Conference Services

RE: a foolish appeal to our sympathy

Dear Troy,

I have reviewed your request for exemption to the Family Housing pet policy and have determined that there are not grounds for an exemption.

The type of pets that will be considered under the approval clause would be birds and fish in small aquariums.

Should you not remove your pig by November 19th, you will be required to vacate your unit no later than December 31, 1996.

Sincerely,

(signed) Big Brother
Big Brother
the BOSS

having perused this scintillating display of turgid repartee, i have come to the conclusion that the UVic housing office must be some sort of military operation structured in imitation of the Mikado...with Lee appearing variously bedecked as "General Manager", "General Housing", General Food" and "Sergeant-General C. Services" as the occasion requires. notwithstanding the will be would be problem of the second line, i have no problem understanding the message...except for One Thing: what kind of birds live in small aquariums?

Poor Tracey. unable to escape the Hard Cold Fact any longer, she looked at me and said in a little lost voice "snuffy's moving away, isn't he?" just for a little while...just for a little while (i said, patting furiously). anyway, we haven't even found a place yet! (i said, panic-stricken)

but i Needn't have worried. Trintje had woven her spell upon me and though Rita Darling the sheet-metal sculptor and owner of Mary-Lou and Franz (Two full grown pot-bellies...What Joy!) successfully repelled me (probably because Mary-Lou had recently developed such a consuming hatred of rita's husband that he had been forced to wear full-length fishing-boots around the house in self-defense...), Pat Dyke was easily trapped into volunteering for the honour of being snuffle's (and My) personal Knight in Shining Armor.

Therefore, Thusly and Thence, on the 19th of November, this year of our lord, nineteen hundred and ninety-six, we, the purported owners of one Snuffle the Pig, did take in our small and claustrophobic car, one ride with said pig (now thoroughly upset and protesting with a steady stream of excrement within the confines of his ENORMOUS box (the one that has to be wedged in the Front door of our car as it is too large to fit into the back (tracey goes in the back, worrying, and feeding the pig a steady stream of unprocessed yet all-to-soon-to-be-deposited-at-the-drivers-end excremental product))), and did transfer ownership for the short space of no more than six months of said pig to Mrs. Pat Dyke who willingly accepted such terms and procedures that were laid down before her as appropriate duties for the charge of one small black pig without qualm or compunction...

oh my gosh, my pen seems to have run dry.

[Nedward Underhill]

ch 6 - Mamma Dyke

we are PIGless. we are SWINElorn. the month has forty days of wild SNUFFLElessness. our hair is droopy, our eyes run dry, and where there should be the tap-tap-tap of little hoofy feet, our ears hear nothing but the empty thud of our own clogged hearts...

we do things to distract ourselves from our loss. we go to mcdonalds and worry about our daughter playing in the ball pit with 6-year-old thugs...or make extravagant meals at home...or go to the movies and order extra-butter popcorn...it was all no use: everything reminds us of our Lost baby boy. once, when we met for coffee, tracey nonchalantly bought a banana, but when she started to peel it the tears re-issued forth torrentially. while i held her wracked body, she blurted out to anyone who might be within earshot, "the Peel! the Peel!" Verily, there was No Point in saving that precious browning ribbon in her purse, No One was waiting patiently at home, eager to eat it with a little snort of thanks. the banana remained uneaten...how could we eat it, and betray his memory?

let's not kid ourselves. the "decision" to move the pig was No decision At All. we had no Choice. Pat Dyke was not the best home but rather the only home we could find for him before our time ran out. all i had to console myself was Faith and Desperation. faith in the Clarion Call of the horn of Tryntje...who summoned this woman Dyke up out the mist, mayhaps from the very bowels of hell itself...

my first encounter with our Swine Savior was unsettlingly brief. i had expected to parade my way though the sob-and-dance saga which was becoming quite polished and persuasive (so i thought)...gradually haranguing or wheedling (i didn't care which) her into a submissive acceptance of the burden of our pig. i was Determined. i was Resolute. i was Resolved to Buy her willing compliance, if necessary, with a bribe of up to and including $300 per month (once he was inside her door i could lower this sum down to something i could afford...). instead, this is what i got:

ME: hello, Mrs. Dyke?..."Mrs." yes?...This is Troy Harwood-Jones calling from...well, Victoria, of course. ha ha. Uhhh.. Well, you might be expecting my...if you are...Well, i'm calling to see if you'll...we...i...there's a pig problem here. will you take our pig?
PAT: Yes, I'll take him. Temporarily.
ME: of course we'd--you will? i mean...Great! of course, it wouldn't be for...it would only be until April at the latest...you don't...he's a...he's a pig. ahhh...black pig. would you like to get together sometime maybe?
PAT: Why?
ME: just to ahhh...we'll to talk things over...but that wont be necessary, of course.
PAT: When will you bring him?
ME: well...ummm...we've got to get him out of here by the 19th...how 'bout the 19th? how would that be? i mean, how would that be with you?
PAT: The 19th. Fine. I'm in the middle of feeding the pigs.
ME: oh yes of course. yes do that. sorry to have...good bye. see you on the 19th.
PAT: -click-

Tracey, privy to the entire contents of my diuretic verbosity, was standing in the doorway waiting for my report. i looked up at her though a fog of spinning brain-waves and said, "i can't figure her out...but she said yes, anyway."

it's true: Pat isn't like us. in that first encounter, what really threw me (i realized later) was how Little she said. she didn't babble the comforting suburban catch-phases which anchor my verbal life. she didn't say "hello" if she didn't need to. she didn't murmur those comforting phatic grunts: "yes, yes." "mmm." and "i see." it was the strangest thing: she didn't speak unless she had something to say Ñ and when she finished saying it (not very prettily either i might add in my defense), she stopped. in a blink of that technological mouth my city met her country and i reeled in a state of culture shock. What Kind of a Home was This for my pig? She might not even Talk to him...

in the preamble to our relationship with Pat, we made like all great invaders of history: we enforced our values upon her. i called back and set up a Preliminary Visitation ritual, a testing-of-the-waters in which Snuffle and Pat would get acquainted. Tracey drew up a legally binding and lawfull contract, and we got her to sign it (with the invitation to make amendments if she so wished. she said, "There's no fancy legal stuff in here, right? I'm not signing myself to any bad contracts, right?" and humored us with a scribble...). we critically surveyed his quarters: a dingy, cluttered downstairs suite. Carpeted, true, but Full of Oh-so-Edible toys. i offered her a choice between $50 or $100/month. she accepted either amount. we made lists of activities, lists of favorites foods, lists of toxic substances, daily planners. i'm sure we made a completely suburban nuisance of ourselves. we Had to. we wore our habits to protect ourselves from the Crisis, God of Thunder...

we needn't have worried.

Pat may not say much on the phone, but her heart pumps Twice as much kindness as anyone i have ever met. not twice as Fast (the city way...the kind of beat proselytized by those neon glamour gyms with the Big Show windows), just Big Country Pumps of Goodness and Compassion... especially for Pigs (which is, of course, the best kind of compassion). Trintje sent me to her because Pat took in runt hoglets and nursed them back to health Ñ and in fact, when we arrived at her house, Mrs. Dyke was Busying over four baby hogs, feeding them milk from a bottle in turns. the only light on in the room emanated from the heat lamp she had suspended over their plywood crib. in her matter-of-fact way she informed us that two of the four Ñ Anne & Willy, i believe Ñ were not doing very well, and she had spent the previous night in the basement with them, feeding and checking them every two hours. in the light of the ruddy heated glow, manipulating those little forms, she was like Hephestus' sister at the forge, carefully constructing Great Pigs for Hera to hurl down upon the world...

This lady Vulcan accepted our little baby with a gruff love, and Snuffy joined her basement troop with complacency. weighing in at 40 lb., he was actually the Big Boy in This gang. though these little rejects would go on to dwarf him in the scales, within the limits of that little piggy forge he became something of a Boss (it's the piggy way...not to mention human...). in Fact, Snuff played a significant role in Anne's life, for after seeing him, she promptly decided life was worth living after all, healthied right on up, and proceeded immediately into her First Crush for my little black-haired dude. two weeks later she was the biggest, healthiest little piglet of the bunch...a real Cutie, in fact. Fortunately, she returned to the farm before she discovered Snuffie's Inhibitory Deficiency ("fixed" as he is), and so will always be able to cherish those prepubescent dreams...

But while pigs come first, there is much more to this Dyke than just pigs. in and around her house on the edge of the city, Pat shares her life with at least three caged (tweety) birds, a collection of tanked fish, a very sweet little bitch named Sam, 6 critical geese, 2 soon-to-be-Christmas-dinner turkeys (Phil & Lill), a half-dozen rabbits, a Whole Mess of chickens (i couldn't count them all, but they all sleep in the same hen-house), a friendly hive of honey-bees (although I didn't test that adjective i Did watch Pat go in without gloves and check the honey), an Enormous and thoroughly Jolly husband (Bill), a post-teenage and World-Champion-swimmer daughter (Kim) whose thigh-muscles intimidate me, and a recuperated squirrel named Snowy (who visits periodically). in her Spare time, Pat takes care of kids from the school across the street. the place is a perpetual chaos, an inferno of activity. it is, of course, the most wonderful house i've ever been in, and tracey and i both want to grow up to be Just Like Pat. Maybe even start up a pig shelter...

We visit Snuffle three times per week: tuesday & thursday mornings, and saturday afternoon. we go for walks without a halter in the fields behind Pat's house, or sit inside and with Pat, eating her home-made cookies, drinking hot coffee, and asking her about how the pigs (& Snuffle) are doing. we Always take a "little something" for Snuffle: tracey brings healthy treats (usually fruit), and i take fatty junk food (usually BarBQ potato-chips). we Know that we are lucky. we Believe that we've somehow managed to find the Perfect Person to take care of our little boy...

BUT

it's terrible. the More we realize how blessed we are, the greater grows our guilt. it is our Greatest shame to admit that we are Not Always thankful for this lovely saving gift. what Wretches we are, looking this wonderful Gift-Pig in the mouth...but Snuffle No Longer sits on Our laps, he sits with HER...he follows HER...he Snuffs for HER...and we know that he calls for HER at 6-o'clock the morning...because she is his Mamma ...his Mamma Dyke.

it was actually because of Calyn that i found out. we are pretty casual about adult names in our house. Calyn tends to call us Mamma and MyDaddy by her own volition, but when she opts for tracey & troy we answer just the same...Still, out of courtesy, i asked Pat what she wished to be called. it was then that i was told, "oh, everyone just calls me Mamma Dyke." and i knew that tracey had heard, and all our piggy-things were tumbling out the bag in a loving rush...washed away by the great Dyke of plenteousness. how can we possibly compete with that kind of power? she is the Mamma Dyke.

Tracey went home in tears: "i'm not his Mamma! he's forgotten me! it's Too Good, he'll Never want to come home! how could i give him up? i'm a Failure as a Mother! he probably Hates me now..."

and to make matters worse, Snuffle is Changing! Not just in behaviour (though it's true he's more obedient with Mamma Dyke than he Ever was with us...), he is changing color! his hair is changing white and pink patches are appearing upon his skin! At First we couldn't believe it, but now it's unmistakable. it's as if a silver-haired pink pig was lurking within our little Ugly Pigling (who was never Ugly, either), and now his pitch blackness is being shed as the radiant beauty appears...it's as if he too is being formed by those rough loving hands into a little pink livestock pig, in miniature imitation of the great Pigs of Destruction she forms for Hera. when we called the doctor about it, we were told that "a loss of pigmentation in the area of his operation is a common response to the Anasthetic he recieved during his surgery." but that doesn't explain why he is changing all over his body...every new growth is pink, all new hair is white...we know that it's because he's Going Over to Mamma Dyke's side. we're losing our little black boy to her Great Holy Waters and we Must be thankful!

our new mantras are "Snuffy'satcamp" and "he'scominghomesoon". we tell ourselves that 'he's happy, and that's all that matters', but we worry...we love Mamma Dyke ourselves, but he's still our little boy . how could he love us? What piggie-pig would want to leave a Mamma Dyke, and the company of hoggy-buddies, with daily walks out in Fresh Country air, and regular visits to a garden-filled back-yard, and a place by the wood-furnace to call your own for a whitewahed, antiseptic, suburban apartment? if we don't bring home the bacon soon, he'll be lost to us FOREVER

[Nedward Underhill]

the Greatest Gift: pig for christmas

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (it feels So good to do that now and again, and it being the Christmas season, and there being a pig in my house (oh joy!), i will luxuriate in an aweful sea of contentiment. and So again i say ahhhhhhhhh...and ohhhhhhhhh...and mmmmmm...(which is, of course, closely related to yummmmmm...)

we had pig for christmas.

On the table and Under the table. just the five of us: mySelf, my lovely Wife, my darling Daughter, my rooting Son, and the Bread Pig we commissioned from Buns Master bakery for the sacrosanct occasion. yea, our table was like a shrine unto the great Lord of Luxuriousity...our Savior Swine. Flanked on either side by the luminous rays of two purple porcine protrudrences (pig-shaped candles), in a languidly mystical inversion of Golgothean skulls, this was a table of Life! of Living to the fullest! Eating to the fullest (lest we forget)! with our brand new pig-shaped salt&pepper shakers glistening temptively in the flickering light, and the pig-decorated napkin holders (also a Wonderful new Christmas addition to our life) still wallowing discarded in that heavenly light, we ate Festive veggie sausage-loaf with our bare hands (after making an offering of thanks to god, of course), "accidentally" dropping large handfuls of mashed potatoes lovingly smothered with (fake) gravy upon the floor. Snuffle ate So much he Threw Up! it was like a piece of Heaven...

tracey and i felt a little bad about the vomit, but we soon realized that he was simply following the great Pig tradition (which the Romans copied in the prime of their empire) of Making More Room, and was begging for more with that piggy-patented, absolutely Convincing, 'Starving' look a few minutes...nay Seconds later. i realized at that moment that old pigs probably sit around in mud puddles telling stories - like sailors - about 'the time they ate So Much...'. in a moment of vision i saw it all before me: the little piglets smacking their chops, sliding away into piggy fantasies of Endless Eating, the wives, for the moment letting the old men speak...smiling sideways at the pomposity of Those Old Boars...who had no clue about Real eating, yet quietly proud of their mates accomplishments nonetheless and enjoying the fellowship of the community together, and the stories mounting in grandeur as the pigs consume more fish-guts (or whatever delicacy is on-mouth) till one old folded veteran is declaring he ate "three times my own weight in a sitting and i couldn't get up for a Week...and even That didn't stop me, i just got My Boy (attempting to pat, but rather lumping his son's head at this point) to bring it To me where i lay...i tell ya, my legs weren't even Touching the ground..."

you know, while preparing to write this, i've been thinking about my previous letters. if you look Very Closely, you might notice how they all seem to revolve around some sort of Tragedy...demons, deluges, plagues, you name it. the Funny thing is that i realized that i was having a Hard time writing this christmas story because...nothing Bad happened. and yet, these few days of August Visitation...in december...(Snuffy is Only Visiting, and must now return to his loving dyke) have been a wonderful blessing to us, and the Good deserves to be written about....nay, needs be recorded for posterity as a tribute to:

***************

the One True Way of the Pig.

Everyone hears a Great Deal (far too much really) about Cats and Dogs in our society. Likewise, one repeatedly hears about "cat" people and "dog" people. the truth about cats, the truth about dogs, dogs playing poker, cat-like smiles, barking orders, catty remarks, bark bark woof meow...it's a clamour. a Noisy, Rambunctious, Aggressive, Carnivorous Rabble of identifications with those (ultimately) inferior breeds. no one takes the time to see the Way and the Scent...and there are So Many Piggy People out there! maybe you are one yourself? surely the pig lurks within you, within Each one of us, just waiting to be let out (and lie down).

just ask yourself:
- am I most comfortable lying down?
- when I Eat, does it feel like a religious experience?
- do I get weak in the knees when someone rubs my excretionary parts?

if you answered yes to all these questions, you are quite likely a Piggy Person!

But there's much more to being a "True Pig" (the highest honor) than these preliminary requirements. A True Pig is a special kind of individual, marked for distinction by the following saintly characteristics:

1. These extraordinary individuals are, by Will or Design, what the world derogatorily refers to as "overweight" (we Far prefer the laudatory phrase, "Generously Portioned"). It's not so much the desire to be Large which drives them to perfection (though these are a Significant branch of the devout) as the tendency to fall back on eating just as one would rest in the arms of a loving friend. who is Closer to you than your food, after all? in an entirely casual moment, when nothing at all is happening, they find themselves thinking about food. their conversations frequently revolve around what they had for dinner last night, or what's on this or that evening's menu. in the house of a True Pig, one is never wanting for snack-food...why wait? yet, under the heartless assaults of a Terrible Societal Pressure, shock-prodding all of us towards anorexia nervosa, these poor creatures (Before self awareness and conversion to the Way) often waste an Inordinate amount of time and energy trying to Stay Slim, squeezing themselves into tight-fitting jeans several sizes too small (our modern corsets), all to No Avail. indeed, for them, food eaten undergoes a mystically immediate transformation into weight. without even Trying, they balloon outward in glorious fleshy splendour (if they could just See the Truth about their beauty), taking on the 'folds of wisdom' that our particular faith esteems so highly.

2. In addition, True Pigs are thorough creatures of habit. They have their 'spot' (in a comfortable place by the heat), and their 'ways'. These habits are signs of their Extreme Intelligence, as only the Foolish (dogs!) would choose to be uncomfortable when a proven route to comfort is know and available.

3. They don't "perform" for the amusement of others. if you want them to do something, you'd better be willing to make it worthwhile (a free lunch is always nice...). given a good reason though, something tangible and real, TPigs can out perform any mere 'beast'. in fact,

4. Nothing can stop a determined TPig...obstacles are No Contest once the TPig gets his/her head down and goes to work. To the TPig, There is Always a way. Nevertheless,

5. they are generally gentle and obliging, and happily show their "softer" side to those who have earned their trust (the free lunch might be mentioned again here...). In Fact, these loving, gentle people are excellent life-long companions: they are comfortable just relaxing...and make few demands besides that thing move slowly and that there isn't too much ruckus.

6. They are not the sort to chatter on endlessly about trivial things. TPigs, polite and courteous as a rule, know their opinions and speak them quietly but clearly.

7. While considered ugly by the blind and ignorant masses, these big buddies have a subtle beauty reserved for those who take the time to get to know them. In fact, those who know True Piggy People often describe them as Irresistibly Cute.

There is a dark side to the True Pig, however. Beware...

1. Rouse them to anger, and they can be nightmarishly ferocious...and they "aim low", making their attacks where it hurts the most. Face one of these horrible monsters and you may soon feel like your insides are spilling right out of you as that quiet strength is released in a Raging Frenzy. They don't attack, they attack back...usually with fear in their eyes. In fact,

2. Fear can be a problem for the True Pig. They like Routine, Familiarity, and Comfort. They are usually Not willing to "try something new for change" or "go out on a limb". They Don't take chances. and they Cannot be Forced. Confronted by threats of this nature (the new/strange/unknown), the head goes down, their legs plant, and they won't budge, they won't give, they won't listen to reason...they must be given time to recover and be allowed to come back by their own volition.

3. oh yeah. people who live with TPigs also often...um...comment (mildly, of course) about their lack of concern for aesthetics and personal hygiene...

Still, by the estimation of the First Church of the True Pig, almost 90% of our population are 'piggy people', and of those at least half have the potential to become True Pigs. and yet, the Doggie-boys and the Kitty-girls get all the press. why is that? probably because the Vicious personality types are much *FLASHIER* than their placidly contented counterparts. furthermore, many True Pigs don't Want to be noticed...it makes them uncomfortable. For whatever reason, to this point many fine pigs have gone by relatively unnoticed, taken for granted, even devoured by our Mass Consumer Society...though things are changing slowly...

On Behalf of the First Church of the True Pig, i wish you Peace, a Nap, and a heavy Snack.

"Go out and Eat"

***************

and so you see, these few days of glorious peace and contentment are in the true spirit of piggy life. as the snow fell languidly around us, piling up in a great tribute to the spirit of repose, we lay around indoors with nothing to do but eat, sleep, and rub bellies...ahh, it was a piggy christmas to remember.