Hog Wash

Our dogs smell worse than ever.

I have my suspicions.

That pig.

I haven't posted about the pig in a while because, well, til this week he'd been keeping to himself. I hadn't seen him since Ivan and Charlie and Francis and Ivan and Jeanne, or something like that. I half wondered if they'd sent him to a safehouse (or not-so-safehouse--get it, like a slaughterhouse, get it!?) due to all the flooding and the growing disrepair of their fence.

But no. He's still hanging in. Or out as the case may be.

But he's not putting up with much anymore. In fact, I have a feeling that Stupid Boxer, the error of a dog who shares a yard with Pig, is on borrowed time.

Pig doesn't wait anymore for Stupid Boxer to leap and bark and leap and bark at Pig's loins. No, now Pig chases Stupid Boxer around the yard, and I mean CHASES.

If you've never been around pigs, well, say, like me, and if you've had the good fortune not to have a neighbor harboring a pig against code regulations, well, say, like I do, then you can't imagine how fast these suckers move.

Pig runs like a jaguar. What's up with that. He leaps forward. He covers the length of his body in one leap. And, unfortunately, Stupid Boxer is wiley enough to out maneuver him.

So far.

I find myself rooting (ha!) for pig these days. I want him to catch Stupid Boxer. I want him to shake that idiot dog and toss her over the fence, preferably not our fence, and then I want pig to bash through the stockade fence, preferably not into our yard, and have a good old fashioned rampage through the neighborhood, preferably the street behind ours.

Go pig, Go! Yes!

But so far, it's not like that. It's just another day of dog harassing pig and pig harassing dog, and with all of the flooding, it seems that pig's "pig stuff" has washed into our yard, and I think that's why our dogs smell worse than ever.

Can a girl catch a break?