Skunky and Elmer

Skunky Wilson, my childhood friend and cohort in mischief, lived with his family on a farm not may miles outside of our sleepy little town Boogerhollow (the "hollow" part of the name being pronounced holler). As far as farms go the Wilson's was by no means what you'd call a huge spread, but it produced a enough income to enable Skunky's dad to nicely supplement his teaching salary at the local community college. The farm was also where the Wilsons learned a valuable lesson in animal husbandry--never make a pet of a critter that's destined to end up on the end of your dinner fork.

It started in the spring of Skunky's eleventh year. Though the Wilson's little ranch mostly produced crops, Mr. Wilson had been contemplating trying his hand at raising a pig. So, no one was too surprised the day he brought home a piglet he'd bought from a neighboring farm.

Skunky and his younger sister and brother immediately fell in love with the little pig. By evening, much to Mr. Wilson's chagrin, they named the pig Elmer and began treating him like a household pet, much like city folk treat their dog or cat. Likewise, Elmer became very attached to the Wilson kids. He even thought of himself as one of them.

Before long, Elmer began following the kids everywhere they went. In fact, Elmer was so accustomed to following his human pals around he'd tag along behind them on their morning walk to catch the school bus. After the kids loaded the bus and it departed, Elmer trotted back home.

Now, the funny thing about that darn pig was his uncanny sense of timing. You see, he somehow knew when the school bus would return, and as his comrades stepped out of the bus there would be Elmer patiently waiting for them.

Some evenings, after homework and chores were done, the Wilson kids would get Elmer's favorite blue ball and play catch with him in the front yard. After a bit, Elmer would tire and he'd stretch out on the lawn, yawn, and take a short nap.

The months went by fast. Soon a snowy winter arrived. Often, Elmer and the children would wrestle or play chase in the snow. Sometimes they'd play follow the leader with Elmer in the lead, making furrows in the snow with his snout.

On bitter-cold days, Skunky's little sister would sneak the pig upstairs and play dress-up with him. One time, Skunky's mom heard a big commotion and raced upstairs to see what all the fuss was about. When she reached the top step there was Elmer, running in circles, trying to shake off Mrs. Wilson's new Sunday church dress that Skunky's sister had dressed him in.

"Git that pig out of my new dress!" Mrs. Wilson shouted. "Goodness gracious, I don't need to be replacing clothes I haven't even worn yet."

In about a year or so, Elmer had grown to a respectable size and Mr. Wilson decided he had put it off long enough. It was time to introduce Elmer to the butcher. So, early one Saturday morning Skunky's dad loaded Elmer in the back of his truck and headed to the butcher's place.

To say the least, that night and for many nights after, there was an atmosphere of quiet mourning in the Wilson home. Skunky and his siblings moped around the house, and some nights they even dreamt about their dear departed friend.

Now, it's said time heals all wounds. Skunky's mom must have believed in that because a few months after Elmer's demise, she invited Ruthy, her old spinster of an aunt, to a nice Sunday roast dinner.

After the family gathered around the table and said grace, everyone began dishing up their plates. As Aunt Ruthy stabbed a big ole piece of roast with a fork, she asked the one question that, as far as Mr. Wilson was concerned, she could have gone all night without asking, "Hey, I just realized I haven't seen Elmer around. What happened to him anyway?"

"Well, uh, yer a-eatin' him," Mr. Wilson stammered.

And that's all it took to set off a commotion. First, Skunky, his sister, and his brother started bawling in unison. At the same time, Aunt Ruthy let out a gasp and dropped her fork to her plate. She then joined the procession of bawlers.

Well, all of the sobbing must have gotten to Mrs. Wilson. Even though she never really thought of Elmer as a pet, she too began weeping over that silly little pig.

As you can imagine, it wasn't long until everyone had lost their appetite for pork, and Skunky's mom ended up giving the frozen remains of Elmer to people who weren't so well acquainted with the pig.

Later, Skunky informed me that he was thinking of becoming a vegetarian. I told him to seriously think it over. After all, changing religions is not a matter to be taken lightly.