Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Wilbur and Us Chapter 6 "I've Got You Under My Skin"

If nothing else it was a huge relief to get Wilbur back. The whole time he was gone all I could think about was how angry and disappointed that lady on the farm would be with us for losing the pig. Well we got him back, now the question was how do we keep him?

Putting a collar on him was not possible because his neck is so thick, it is bigger than his head, so Rhea and I went to the pet store and found a halter for him. The only halter we could find in his pint size was a cute little pink one. We brought it home, and Rhea left it up to Jeff, and me to put it on Wilbur. Needless to say, this was quite the chore. After a half hour of fighting, and listening to Wilbur’s deafening cries, we finally had the halter on and adjusted. He looked really cute in his hot pink halter; for all of five minutes; that’s how long it took little Hoodini pig to slip out of it. I don’t know if his male ego was challenged by the pink color, or if it just bound him in the wrong places, but Wilbur would have nothing to do with that halter. The halter was a big waste of twenty dollars; twenty dollars we could have (and in retrospect, should have), used to get him fixed.

There was one thing that we never had a problem with concerning Wilbur, and that was getting him to eat. Wilbur loved to eat! “I can see why they call them pigs.” I remarked, watching Wilbur anxiously, and greedily devouring anything, and everything he was offered. Wilbur could eat 24/7, and practically did, as Rhea lavished love, attention, and food, on her little pig. The kitchen quickly became Wilbur’s favorite room of our house, as he followed Rhea around constantly looking for a hand out. I got to admit, he was so cute; his little tail swishing back and forth like he didn't have a care in the world; and the smacking sounds he made with each mouthful. It was easy to fall in love with that little son of a bitch. Even the dogs adjusted quickly to Wilbur, even if they were a little jealous of him

Wilbur quickly lost his fear of us, though he never liked the idea of being picked up. I think he was just too proud to be picked up as if he were a common house cat. Wilbur was special, and he knew it. He was also spoiled; very spoiled. When Wilbur wasn't eating, he was getting loved and stroked from Rhea. Turns out dogs aren't the only pets that like to have their bellies rubbed. Wilbur adores having his belly rubbed; while “mommy” coos to him calling him her “pumpkin pie”.

Come to think of it, the dogs weren't the only ones jealous of Wilbur; so was I. Heck, I would love to have been fed treats all day, and having my belly rubbed too. Well, at least I was still getting some attention as “the great white hunter” that brought the little game home. Besides, it isn't very manly to beg for affection.

After a couple of days we figured Wilbur had adjusted enough to let him back outside. The important thing was not to chase him and get him alarmed so he would run away. When it was time to bring him in, Wilbur could easily be lured into the house with a banana, or a slice of bread. It was also getting colder outside, and it wasn't long before we would find Wilbur waiting on the top step waiting to be let in with no troubles.

After a couple days we decided that Wilbur was ready to be a full fledged member of the family. We kept his news paper in the spare bedroom for the night time goings, but we moved his blanket into the living room under the coffee table. It was immediately taken over by Dylan, and Toby who were jealous of Wilbur. However when bedtime approached Wilbur was not to be deterred by the two dogs, he simply walked over to his blanket, and wedged himself in between Dylan, and Toby. There they slept, all cozy and warm, and together. What a pretty picture that made! Wilbur was now an accepted member of the family.

But as the winds of winter were fast approaching, so were the winds of change…for Wilbur, and our whole family.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Wilbur and Us Chapter 5 "A Huntin' We Will Go"

It was a long slow walk back to the house from the boat launch. We were physically beat, and mentally beaten; and I was in a foul mood. We barely had Wilbur for one day, and now he may be gone forever. Jeff was much more optimistic about Wilbur’s chances, “Don’t worry, he won’t freeze to death, he’ll find some warm place to hunker down for the night.” “Well he better,” I replied, “because it’s supposed to get down to 36 and rain all night.”

I thought we should call a war council after supper, to figure out our strategy, so I sent Jeff out to get us a twelve pack. I always do my best figuring with a cold beer or two, and a shot of bourbon or two. After what I had gone through earlier, there was no question the need for either of the two, and we needed a game plan for tomorrow. There was no way I was going to go out in the cold, and rain tomorrow, and chase that damn pig around. This was starting to get personal. If that pig wasn't frozen solid tomorrow, his ass was mine!

The war council convened after we finished the dishes; it consisted of Rhea, Jeff, and me. There were two things we had going in our favor; we knew the general area where Wilbur was located, and we had Toby. Wilbur could run, but he could not hide. Jeff brought up the point that when he saw Wilbur run from Toby when they were in the brush, Wilbur stayed on the path, and did not run through the undergrowth. This was a key observation on Jeff’s part, because there would only be Jeff, me, and Toby, around in the morning to get the job done.

The general plan was simple, Jeff would take Toby to the far side of the brush along the fence line, and I would stand down the path a ways with Sean’s fishing net. When Toby caught scent of Wilbur, and went after him, the only direction Wilbur could go without running into the creek was towards the parking lot…and me. As he ran past me I would simply lower the net, and bag myself a pig. It was a good plan, and I went to bed confident that we would catch him; if he didn't freeze to death over night.

When we got up the next morning, I was dismayed to see that the weatherman had actually been correct for once; it was indeed colder than a witch’s left tit, and it was raining. After a couple cups of hot coffee we grabbed Sean’s fishing net, and put Toby on the leash; it was pig hunting time.

Down the road we plodded in our boots, and rain gear. I carried Sean’s net like a rifle over my shoulder, and Jeff had Toby pulling him down the street. I am sure we were a sight to see, fortunately there were no neighbors out to watch us go “fishing” without a pole.

When we got to the boat launch we went into the brush along the creek. Jeff showed me the best place along the path to stand, it was very narrow, and Wilbur would have to stay on that path or he would take a tumble down the slope into the creek. I took up my position and waited for Jeff and Toby to walk down to the fence line. Jeff yelled out to me, “Wilbur’s alright, I can hear his little grunts, he’s looking for food.” We couldn't see him, but we could hear him. “That’s good”, I thought, “Everything is going to plan.” Jeff, and Toby got in place and Jeff yelled, “Get ready, I’m unloosing the hounds!” He had got that line from the Jerry Seinfeld commercial that was popular at the time. It made me grin, but I braced myself for the charge. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds before a din of noise arose from the silence, Aroooo! Aroooo! From an excited Toby, followed by a loud Wreeeee! Wreeeee! from a terrified Wilber. “I see them!” shouted Jeff, “Here they come!” I looked up the path, and sure enough they were coming my way as if they had been shot out of a cannon. Wilbur came running by me, and I put the fishing net down.

Not only did Wilbur look like he had been shot out of a cannon, but he had the mass of a cannon ball, and he tore right through the fishing net! I was left standing there with my mouth agape as Wilbur and Toby tore down the path towards the parking lot. I tried to give chase, but in my heavy boots, and rain gear I stood no chance. Once again Wilbur ran around the parking lot and high weeds until Toby was too tired to chase him any longer, then he disappeared back into the brush.

The fishing net was destroyed along with my pride, and self esteem. Wilbur simply refused to make this easy for us, and I was steamed. We walked back down the street to my house.

Rhea’s older brother Dickie lived across the street from us in the house that Rhea grew up in. He was outside, and he asked us what we were up to. Dickie got a good laugh at our expense as I told him our story. “Here boys” he said as he went into his garage, “this net can handle a twenty pound pike, and I'm sure it can handle your little pig!” He handed me his fishing net, “Just make sure you bring it back after you haul in your little pig.” I assured him we would, and back down the road we went.

We went back down to the boat launch knowing that we had to get it right this time. Once again I took up my position on the side of the path, while Jeff and Toby went down to the fence line. “Here we go!” Jeff hollered and let Toby loose. “Catching Wilbur, take two!” I thought to myself as we replayed the previous scene. Just as before, Toby found Wilbur in a matter of seconds, and the chase was on! I could hear them long before I could see them, but here they came, Wilbur shooting down the path with Toby nipping at his heels. When Wilbur reached me I lowered the net, but this time when Wilbur ran into it, I released it (on Jeffs advice). Wilbur’s momentum took him and the net about six feet down the path, but the net held, and Wilbur got all tangled up. This was my big chance and I seized it! I pounced on Wilbur, and the net; the prize was mine! Wilbur was shrieking his little head off, fighting to get away, but I was not letting go, not after all we had been through.

We triumphantly walked home listening to Wilbur’s chorus of complaints.

Next…Wilbur becomes part of the family.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Wilbur and Us - Chapter 4 "Where Oh Where Did My Little Pig Go"

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watched Wilbur disappear down the street. Rhea got there in time to see him veer left through a neighbor’s yard about five hundred feet away. Wilbur was still moving as if his tail was on fire, and his ass was catchin’. Rhea cried out my exact thoughts, “We’ll never find him now!” Trying not to let her see my despair I said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.” all the time thinking to myself “damn, how are we going to find, and catch that little son of a bitch?”

Our neighborhood was surrounded by water on two sides. Down the road about 1/3 of a mile to the east was the Genesee River, and across the street Black Creek acted as the boundary line for our neighbor’s back yards. Down the street where Black Creek emptied into the Genesee, there was a small State owned boat launch, and fishing area. The whole area, with the exception of the boat launch parking lot, and our neighbor’s yards was completely over grown with trees, brush, and tall weeds; a perfect piggy hiding place. Prospects did indeed look grim.

The only thing going in my favor was that I was well acquainted with that stretch of our road, and the boat launch area, because of my dog walking. Unless they escaped, the dogs were confined to our back yard, behind the fence. The only thing they had to look forward to besides escaping was our almost daily walks. One at a time, I would hook them up to the leash, and walk them down to the boat launch parking lot and back. This amounted to about a two mile walk for me, and a chance to sniff the scents for the dogs. Even Tony, with his bad hind legs, and Bluedoe, walking on basically three legs, never turned down the chance to walk and smell the scents.

Bluedoe was a big lovable rottweiler, with terminal cancer that manifested as a huge tumor on his upper front leg. Bluedoe was a birthday gift from Gerry, and Jason her two oldest sons, three years before, because Rhea wanted a rot so badly. It seems that whenever Rhea had her heart set on an animal she wanted, someone would get it for her; I should know, that’s why I was in the mess I was in.

I told Rhea to go finish making supper, and that I would try to locate the pig. I walked down the street to where it looked like he veered off the road. I looked through all of the neighbor’s yards seeking a miniature grousing pig. I ran into a few of my neighbors, and asked each one if by any chance they had seen a little pig go running by. Needless to say, I got quite a few incredulous looks by these neighbors, but no one had seen him.

I worked my way down the street until I reached the last house before the boat launch parking lot. That house was fenced in, so I began combing the tall weeds between the fence, and the parking lot. As I was moving the weeds with my foot to look for Wilbur, a young girl came out of the house and asked me what I was looking for. I told her I was looking for my new baby pig that had escaped, and had run in this general direction. She said “I haven’t seen him, but I think I know where he is”. My ears perked up, “How do you know where he is?” I asked. “I was in my back yard where I could hear snorting on the other side of the fence. I couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be, but I bet it’s your pig foraging for food.” She said. Well that certainly made sense to me. Once Wilbur felt safe enough, he certainly would start snouting around for grub. I thanked the girl, and asked if her mother would mind if we searched back there for Wilbur. “No, we wouldn’t mind at all. Happy hunting!” I went in back between their fence and the creek. It was all covered with bushes, weeds and trees. I knew I would need some help, so I headed back home.

When I got back I told Rhea I had located Wilbur, but now had to catch him. She recommended that I take Toby along to flush him out and hopefully, run him down. That was a good idea, we only had about 45 minutes of sunlight left, and we needed to grab Wilbur before sunset. The over night forecast was mid thirties, and rain, if we didn’t get him tonight, there might be nothing left but a piggy Popsicle by the morning. Mitchell, Sean, Jeff, me, and Toby set off for the boat launch determined to bag us a pig.

Once we got to the parking lot, we went into the brush and released Toby. “Go find Wilbur Boy!” I shouted, and off he went. Now, Toby was too dumb to understand English, but he knew what we wanted, because he picked up on Wilbur’s scent immediately. Next thing I knew, I heard Toby, Aroooo! Aroooo! Then I heard Wilbur Wreeeee! Wreeeee! as Toby chased him. I was standing in the tall weeds between the parking lot and the brush when Jeff yelled out “Here they come!” Wilbur shot past me before I could react, with Toby hot on his hooves. They headed out into the parking lot followed closely by Mitchell, Sean, Jeff, and me. The four of us spent what seemed an eternity chasing that son of a bitch, but in the open parking lot there was no place to corner him. We were all out there running around as if we were having a Chinese fire drill, but no one could get a hand on Wilbur. I could see that the pig was tiring, but so was Toby; meanwhile Mitch, Sean, Jeff, and I were gassed. I stood there panting, watching Toby still chase Wilbur, when Wilbur made a cut towards me. “I got you now you son of a bitch!” I thought. I lunged for him, but all I came up with was gravel, and a few scrapes. Wilbur ran past me, and back into the weeds.

By this time, even Toby was gassed. The sun had set a while ago, and now it was almost dark. We all looked at each other dejectedly, “Fuck him!” I blurted, “Let him spend the night out here, I hope he freezes his little piggy ass off tonight!” We were all pissed off, and spent, but at least we knew where Wilbur was. We'd be back.

Next: A hunting we will go.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Wilbur and Us- Chapter 3 "The Great Escape"

After we shut Wilbur in his room for the night, we let the dogs up from the basement. Immediately they all caught the scent of our newest “child”. Even Tony showed an interest. Tony, was a large German Shepard, that looked more wolf, than dog. In his younger days, Tony was a mean old junk yard dog who was dumped on Rhea by her eldest son, Gerry. Tony was so mean that Rhea didn’t know what to do with him; but in time her love broke him down. Now Tony was a shadow of his former self, old, going blind, with badly arthritic hind legs. In spite of all this, he joined the other dogs checking out this new, and very different smell.

We figured we would let the dogs get used to the smell of Wilbur over night before the big introduction. They all showed a keen interest, but none of them got overly excited, not even Toby. Toby, I knew, was the wild card in this whole equation. Toby was the most high strung of the group, the youngest, and the hardest to control. When Toby got excited, not only did he not listen too well, but he would begin to bark uncontrollably. Well, you could call it a bark, but it was more of a loud cross between a bay, and a bawl; like AROOOO, AROOOO. Since the dogs seemed to be adjusting to the new smell well, we went to bed that night hopeful that Wilbur’s coming out party with the dogs the next morning would go well.

The next morning we looked in on Wilbur, and were pleasantly surprised. Wilbur was standing in the corner by his blanket, looking warily at us. The surprising part was that he had used the newspaper for its intended purpose. For a piglet raised in a barn, I was impressed. This would not be the last time we would be impressed with Wilbur’s intelligence. I walked over to him, and he tried to get away, but with his poor footing on the hard wood floors, I had no problem gathering him up. He started his wailing, and, his smelling. I brought him out of his room gripped tightly in my arms. All of the dogs showed an interest, but Toby went ballistic. I don’t know if it was Wilbur’s wail, or his smell, or both that set Toby off, but his tail shot straight up, and he started baying. Here I was, trying to hold on to a scared, squirming, wailing, smelly pig; while at the same time pushing Toby away, and yelling at him to shut up. Fortunately, Rhea was quick to grab his collar, and pull him away. After a couple of minutes we managed to get everyone (including myself) calmed down.

I gave each dog a chance to sniff the pig, while still holding the pig. I carefully set Wilbur down on the floor, the two younger dogs came over to check him out closer, but did not try to hurt him. Wilbur was still a little scared, but was unable to do much on the slippery (for him) floors.

We took Wilbur out to the kitchen to feed him something. We really didn’t know what to give him, but it didn’t matter because Wilbur was more than happy to eat anything, and everything we gave him. When Wilbur was eating he forgot all about his fear of us. He just ate and wagged his tail continuously. Contrary to cartoon pigs, pot belly pigs do not have a cork screw tail (something else is cork screwed, but we’ll get to that later), and unless they are alarmed, or asleep, it is in constant motion.

We decided to let Wilbur outside to get used to his new home. Our yard was open in the front, but we had a fence around the backyard. The front of the fence was your typical white picket fence, while the sides, and the back were a blockade style. Wilbur was rather small, about the size of a child’s bowling ball, but I was sure he could not get between the pickets.
Wilbur loved the back yard. He just used his little piggy snout to grouse around looking for grubs, and anything else he could eat. He was happier than a pig in the proverbial poop, grousing around with his cute little tail just swinging back and forth. I went off to work that afternoon confident that everything would be okay.

I came home from work about five hours later (remember due to 9/11 I was only working part time), and everything was okay. Wilbur was still snouting everything, and the dogs were not bothering him. While I was checking up on events out back, Rhea asked me to bring Wilbur in for supper. I went out back hoping to get Wilbur while he was preoccupied with his grousing, but as soon as I got within a few feet of him, he took off!

On the hard wood floors inside, I had no problem catching him, but outside on grass was a whole different story. It was unbelievable how fast that little son of a gun could run! I chased after him, soon joined by Toby who wanted to get in on the fun. We ran all over the back yard chasing Wilbur. Toby was as fast as Wilbur, but Wilbur could cut on a dime and eluded him until we finally had him cornered between the house, and the picket fence. Frantic, Wilbur tried to push between the pickets, but could not fit through, but just before I could grab him, the nail holding the slat in place gave way, and Wilbur was gone. Wilbur took off across the front lawn until he reached the street. When he hit the street, he made a right hand turn, and down the road he went! By the time I got to the street, he was just a blur disappearing on the horizon.
To be continued….

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Wilbur and Us Chapter 2 "Our Little Piggie In A Blanket"

On the way home I used my cell phone to call home. I told my son, Mitchell, that we had the pig and would be home soon. I asked him to round up the dogs and close them up in the basement so we could get Wilbur in the house without the little pig having a heart attack.

We had four dogs, Rhea’s dog Tony was old and had bad hind legs, and her dog Bluedoe, the Rot, had cancer and was sickly (both dogs had to be put to sleep within a couple of weeks). It was my two dogs that I was worried about. Dylan was a black haired mixed breed with a tail that curled up. He was about seven years old and very smart; he loved to escape from our yard and carouse the neighborhood looking for adventure, and females in heat. Toby was a brown haired Shepard, pointer, hound mixed breed. Toby was almost a year old, and very active; and he tagged along with Dylan when they escaped, which was a good thing because he was not smart enough to be able to find his own way home.

When we got home, I told Rhea to give me the pig. My figuring was that if Mitchell screwed up, or somebody let the dogs out, that they would listen to me to back off. As soon as Rhea handed me Wilbur, he had a panic attack. It was little hooves, and snout thrashing all about amid that horrendous ear piercing wail. I lost control of him, and dropped him to the ground. Fortunately, pigs are not like cats that hit the ground feet first, Wilbur went rolling, and before he could get his feet under him I pounced on him! I thought to myself “thank God I got him when I did; because if he eluded my grasp, there was no way I was going to catch him”. I carried him into the house with his wailing ringing in my ears.

The one thing I noticed about this little guy, besides his lung capacity; was his odor. It seems that when pigs are scared, they emit a loud screeching wail like a thousand nails across a chalkboard; and they also emanate a peculiar porcine scent. I brought him into the house thinking “What have I got myself in to? Am I going to have to listen to this, and smell this everyday?!”

When we got into the house, the dogs were in the basement, so I relaxed a little. I started petting Wilbur, and baby talked to him, this calmed him down a bit. Rhea went around yelling through the house “I got a pig! Come see my pig!” Mitchell, my step son Sean, and my brother in-law Jeff (who was, and still lives with us) came running to check out the new pig. This of course got Wilbur all excited, and he started shrieking and smelling again. Mitchell smirked in jest, “We can’t even get baby back ribs off of him!” Rhea cried, “We are not eating him!” while I’m thinking to myself “Baby back ribs might not be a bad idea”. I held him while everyone came over and stroked his little head, and eventually he quieted down.

We had a spare bedroom with no furniture in it, so that was to be Wilbur’s room. While I held him, Rhea got a blanket, and laid it in one corner. Then she got some old newspapers and laid them out in the opposite corner. I went into the room carrying Wilbur, and closed the door behind us. I set Wilbur down, and he started to struggle, I let go of him and watched him try to scamper away. That was the first time that I truly noticed that Wilbur was different from the other animals. Wilbur has hooves, not paws, and the hard little hooves were having a difficult time gaining purchase on our hard wood floor. It was like watching a toddler on ice skates, as his feet kept sliding out from under him with every step. I thought he would fall flat on his face as he struggled to get away from me, but he didn’t. He scurried until he reached the wall, then turned and kept going until he hit the next one. When he realized that he was as far away from me as he was going to get, he stopped and looked at me. I walked over to him, he tried to escape but, with his hooves sliding on the hard wood floor he was easy prey. I picked him up, and set him on the blanket to a chorus of his wails. Rhea brought pieces of an apple she had cut up, and set them down next to the blanket. As soon as Wilbur smelled the apple he shut up, went over to the apple, and started eating. Rhea knew that the way to a pig’s heart was through his stomach. We walked out of the room, leaving Wilbur and his apple behind, and closed the door.

After supper we opened the door to check on Wilbur. Wilbur was sound asleep. He had used his snout to arrange the blanket in such a way that he was lying on it but also wrapped up in it. Rhea, and I just stood there smiling, two proud parents of a little piggy in a blanket.

Little did we know that this was the calm before the storm. The next day would lead to a great escape, and little game hunting for Jeff and me.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Wilbur and Us - Chapter 1 "Wilbur Comes Home"

Note: It is that time of year again when I re-post my book Wilbur and Us; all nineteen chapters, two chapters a week.  This gives me time to rest, get my creative juices flowing, and a chance for all my new readers to meet, and get to know my pet pot bellied pig Wilbur.  This is a story of a man (me) and his pig.  It is also a true story of all trials and tribulations he put us through.  If you ever wanted to know what it is like to own a pet pig, and you like funny stories, this is for you.

Prologue: After seeing the huge success of books like “Marley and Me”, I figured it was my time to cash in on the cute animal/owner genre that seems to be sweeping the nation.….by the way, this is a true story.

Ever since my wife and I have been together, she has always talked about wanting to own a pot bellied pig one day. I would always say “that’s nice dear”, and leave it at that. Since we already had four dogs (two of hers, and two of mine, before we got together), a cat, and three guinea pigs; I figured we already had our plate full of pets.

One cool autumn day in October, right after our fourth anniversary together, I was glancing through the local weekly newspaper’s want ads, when I noticed an ad that read “pot bellied pigs for sale to good owners, not to be raised for food! Females $30.00, males for $25.00”. I mentioned the ad to my wife Rhea, and she immediately started begging me to buy her a pig. Seeing as how it was a nice Sunday morning, and that we had plenty of time to make the 50 mile round trip before football started, and that I am soft in the head, I said yes.

I called the phone number on the ad, and a real nice lady answered. “Hi, I saw your ad in the paper for pot bellied pigs, and I was wondering if you still had any?” I said. “Oh yes” she replied, “but do you want it for a pet, and will you take good care of it?” I assured her that we did, and that we would. She then gave me her address, and I told her we would be there in an hour.

The lady owned a farm about 30 miles away on the north tip of Conesus Lake, one of the Finger Lakes. Since I used to disc jockey at a bar not too far from there, I had no problem finding her farm.

The lady was very nice but a little eccentric. She was very adamant about not selling a pig to someone who would not take care of it, or who wanted to eat it. Either I did a good job of hiding my trepidation about owning a pig, or I have an honest face, but she agreed to sell us a pot bellied pig.

She took us out to the barn where we could see a couple of big pigs, and about eight little fellers. “That’s the father” she said as she pointed out the biggest pig. This guy was quite a bit bigger than I thought a pot bellied pig would be; at least 300 pounds! “I thought pot bellied pigs were a little smaller than that”, I remarked. “Well the males are a little bigger than the females. Most people get the females because they are smaller.”

Well, I work in the airline industry, and it had been a year since 9/11. The airlines weren't doing well; I had been reduced to part-time so money was tight. I could not afford the more expensive female pig. I looked over at Rhea, who was grinning uncontrollably, and asked her “Are you sure you want to do this? I can only afford the male pig.”

Her head was going up and down like some bobble head doll in the back window of a car going down a bumpy mountain road, “Yes! Yes! I want a pig!” I turned to the lady and asked her if the runt of the litter was a male. “Why, yes it is! And he is so cute!” I reasoned that the runt would perhaps grow up to be smaller than his dad, so I said “We’ll take him.”

This was all well and good, but now the lady had to catch him. She spotted the little runt off in the corner covered with hay to keep warm. As she got closer, the little runt sensed something was up, and took off! With the agility of a minx, the lady went after him, cornered him, and caught him with such speed that my jaw dropped!

The little runt was only about three or four pounds, but he could wail like a banshee. His wail was so loud that it literally hurt my ears! The lady walked over and placed the runt in Rhea’s arms. After a minute or two of stroking, and gentle cooing by Rhea, the runt finally calmed down.

I paid the nice lady the $25, and we headed for the car. Before we got in the car the lady said “I recommend that you get him fixed while he’s still small, it’s much easier, and you’ll be glad you did. I know a vet just down the road who will do it for $25.” We took the vet’s phone number, and off we went.

On the forty-five minute drive home the runt was reasonably calm, and quiet, so we talked about what to name him. We decided to call him Wilbur, after the pig in the book "Charlotte’s Web". Wilbur was coming home to meet his brothers... four big dogs!

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Twitter Me Some Facebook Love

Like most people I am on both Facebook, and Twitter. Facebook is a good way to keep in touch with my friends and relatives, and Twitter is a good way to let people know that I've written a new article. I really don't spout off too much on either site, but I will often take the time to put a post up that will make people think, and perhaps brighten their day.

I was looking through my vast array of tweets, and I thought I might put some of the best of them in a post, sort of a Mike's Greatest Tweets album for you. I hope you like them.

Take a moment to thank God for the gift of life. It is a gift you can be eternally thankful for.

Fill your heart with love and you will light the way for others.

The central world banks want to turn us into indentured servants. It is a short step from servants to slaves.

Truth can never be learned it must be realized. Today may you realize God's love for you.

No act of kindness ever escapes the eye of God.

Life is to be lived. Throw away your fears. Man must be balanced between the physical, and the spiritual to grow.

Rule of thumb; if the globalist banker run govn't says something, assume it's a lie. 99.5% of the time you will be

If you muddle through life, don't expect great results. Life is to be lived, get on with it.

Being a free thinker doesn't mean you are a sinner; it just means you are different.

My dad taught me "Never take shit from someone, once you do, it never stops coming". Think about it.

If you can't handle the truth, start being honest.

To be a positive influence, you first have to be a positive person.

What the world needs now is love, and acts of good will. Please donate.

I used to be a Catholic, then I learned that God doesn't judge, It just loves. Since then I have tried to emulate It.

The highest form of respect you can give someone is to let them be them self.

Love is the answer. Why do so many people still have questions?

Love will open any door, but it is self responsibility and good will that will get you to that door.

A paradigm shift is coming. It will come through love, not violence.

Try to approach each situation from the view point of love; not power.

Being responsible is everyone's responsibility.

It's a world of survival of the fittest; but somehow I'm still here.

Watching TV is like a box of chocolates; everything looks tasty, but will make you fat... in the head.

Put your love where your mouth is!

Kindness catches on, and it doesn't cost a thing to be nice to someone.

How can today be special, when you think its just going to be another day? 

I try not to treat women like amusement park rides; but I still meet a few I'd like to take a whirl with.

Is it beer-thirty yet?

Stating a coherent thought in 140 characters or less is an art form. 

Well, there it is, sort of my top 25 greatest tweets. Reading them over, I realized I missed my true calling in life. I think I should have been a fortune cookie writer.

Be my friend on facebook: Michael Allan Muehleisen. Follow me on Twitter: @muley12.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

I Can't Abide 55! (actually 59)

Monday is my birthday, so I am re posting an article I wrote for my 55th birthday four years ago.  My sentiments are pretty much the same, but I am closer to retiring.

I came into this world at exactly 4:00am on the eighth of September, 1955. Some quick math tells me that I am going to be double nickles this year. Noooooo. I am very happy to be alive, but I can't find one good thing about turning 55. Where has all the time gone? It seems like just yesterday that I shed a tear at turning 20. I still feel the same as I did back then, but one quick look in the full length mirror (a quick look is all I can handle), tells me all I need to know.

Here is my Top Ten List of why it sucks to be 55.

10) I'm too young to retire, but too old to pick up hotties.

9) My physique used to resemble a "V". It still does, but now it is inverted.

8) I am starting to get ads in the mail for burial plots.

7) Cougars are not interested in me.

6) Social Security will be gone by the time I reach 62.

5) I am paying attention to Viagra ads.

4) Even my wife needs to be bribed to go to bed with me.

3) I see people my age and think "he's an old fuck".

2) I'm thinking of dumping my Ford Escape for a Ferrari.

And the number one reason it sucks to be 55, the only time I make women wet, is when I make them laugh, or sneeze.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

The Lifetime Movie Network

Well, its finally here! Football season is upon us. It has been a very long lonely time since the NFL draft. You see, I am addicted to football. I don't even play fantasy football, (that would make me a geek) but I am NFL ready 24-7.

I know there are many people out there sighing to themselves (all women). "His poor wife, how can he neglect her so!?" F#&k them I say!  Truth be told, she has her own monkey on her back; she is addicted to the Lifetime Movie Network (LMN).

I know there are many people out there (all men) saying "My God! No one should have to put up with that kind of torture!" It's true. Give me water-boarding! Put bamboo shoots up my fingernails! Anything but more LMN!

I have personally seen every movie on that channel at least three times (I have to put up with LMN to get any nookie). Imagine how many times she has seen them? Yet she watches religiously every day. Believe it or not.

I'm thinking of shooting an e-mail to the FCC to check on the possible use of subliminal programming on LMN. She watches that channel as if she were in a trance.

The worst part of this whole story, is that our bedroom TV is her TV (mine is on the back patio) so I have to listen to this crap all night long!

I don't want to even consider the damage being done, to my subconscious.

Football anyone?

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Trying Your Luck

I got new tires today. That doesn't sound like much, but it sure does mean a lot to me. You see, my last tires were almost bare, and I was very afraid of getting a blow out, or skidding in the rain. I was trying my luck, and luckily I survived until we could afford new tires.

Trying your luck can be very stressful. In today’s world we all have to try our luck a lot more than we would like. Money is tight, and when money is tight, things that were necessities, now become luxuries. For some people eating is becoming a luxury. 

The stress level of adult America is going through the roof (and so is their blood pressure).

Trying your luck can be fun and exciting at times; it can provide a great adrenaline rush. I like to try skiing down the advanced slopes even though I am not a very good skier. I will often walk under ladders, and play with fire (you should see me light my grill). Heck, sometimes I will even brave driving in rush hour traffic! That is normally very exciting. I like to try my luck in certain ways; it helps to spice up my life.

There are also certain ways I don’t want to try my luck, like driving on bad tires, or with faulty wind shield wiper blades. I don’t want to gamble that my old geezer of an air conditioner will make it through another scorching Miami summer. I don’t like having to juggle to pay bills, and I don’t like knowing that I am just one paycheck away from oblivion.

I certainly would like not to have to try my luck so much. There is just one small problem; I haven’t figured out how to yet.

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This site is more a column than a blog. I write humorous, spiritual, and political articles. Everything I write is designed to make you think; what you think is up to you.