The Boar

By Vicki Smith

She could hear it rooting and grunting in the yard almost every night. She was afraid to go outside because it would savage her if she got too close. Well, if she could kill it, it would provide enough food for a whole winter. But how? She didn’t own a gun. “I’ll dig a hole,” she thought! “Deep enough so it can’t get out.” 

The next day, she began digging. “I am too old for this,” she murmured, applying bandaids to the blisters on her hands. It took her three days but finally she felt it was deep enough. She placed a narrow board into the hole and threw handfuls of fresh corn in to bait the pig. “Now we wait,” she thought. That night she stayed close by the door to listen. She heard the pig coming, grunting and shuffling along but no squealing or cries of distress. “This might not work,” she thought and went to bed. 

In the morning, she went out to the hole. There was no boar but a skunk had visited, sprayed and left. “Well, that’s just great! Thanks a lot. Well, at least I’m ready when I die. I can be buried here. I’m just going to leave it for a while, maybe another idea will come up.” She went ahead with her chores and duties. The car was giving her problems again. “Oh, I wish I knew a mechanic!“ She thought. “Dad blast it!” None of her neighbors were mechanically inclined, that she knew of, besides she didn’t even know them well. The nearest neighbor was a half a mile down the road. 

If their cars broke down they’d probably just saddle a horse. Well, I’ve got to get that floor cleaned. “Get to work, Maia,” she told herself. 

Not much happened in the next several days. She was dependent on her son to get that car fixed, but only when he was available. Half of her life was spent waiting, she pondered. That’s the life of a farmer, she thought. Help me be patient, Lord and wait for the harvest. 

That night she was awakened to a squealing and screaming like she had never heard before. She ran over to the hole, holding her ears, there was that big old, black boar jumping up and down and fighting mad. She grabbed the board and smacked the boar’s head again and again. Finally it collapsed. The quiet was such a relief, she sank down and waited until her heart stopped pounding and then she ran to grab a knife and slit its throat. 

Well. she had her boar, now what to do with it? Peter finally showed up. 

“I need your help to butcher this pig. Help me get this rope around his feet and drag him over to that tree. We’ve got to hang him upside down so the blood will run out,” she told her son. “Do you know how to do this? Let me check on google search and call my friend.” “We can figure it out. We will have to build a smokehouse shelter to preserve the meat too. ‘How to butcher a pig’, that’s what you need to look up. What does it say?” 

“Okay, you’re right, we have to hang it overnight at least. I guess, we just tie his hind feet together and how are we going to get him high enough to hang?” 

“Pull him out by your car. Tie the rope on your car and pull him out.” 

“Good idea, Mom, you’re a regular genius. I’m going to call Paul. He knows how to do this stuff!” 

“Okay, good, but let’s get this pig hung first.” 

Well, butchering that pig was an experience they would never forget. It was a lot of work but they all enjoyed the fruit of their labors. Fresh bacon, pork chops, ground sausage and that Christmas, they had a big old smoked ham. Mmmmm mmmm.