Rustic Russ and I love it when people “get it.”
When they understand why we live the way we do.
Why we would rather spend money on our horse’s hooves, than go to a fancy restaurant.
It’s what we do.
It’s how we roll.
And if you are reading this, I bet you “get it” too.
You understand what it feels like to step into nature, have it grasp your heart, your throat, and punch you with a feeling so strong, of raw emotion, it makes you sit down on the nearest stump.
Our friend, AC (Animal Control) Ellen is one of our Parallel Friends.
This past weekend, AC Ellen picked up her new pigs.
This is not a new endeavor. AC Ellen raises her own pork.
She opted for the 80-pound models this year, whereas, Rustic Russ and I will be getting the little buggars who are just weaned from Mama.
As the story goes, AC Ellen hauled them home, unloaded the trailer and got them secure in their nice new surroundings.
Then…the fun began.
You see, AC Ellen’s new Mustang had never seen pigs before.
Never heard pigs before.
The horses started dancing.
The pigs started dancing.
And they weren’t dancing together.
One of the pigs decided to make a run for it, bolting out of his enclosure, right through the horse pasture.
Chaos ensued.
AC Ellen, being the non-panicky type, stepped into the barn for a scoop of oats to coax the pig back to his enclosure.
Upon coming back out of the barn, two seconds later, the new pig was gone.
Disappeared.
The search was on.
Hours passed.
Early evening turned into night.
A night void of hope for finding the pig.
As AC Ellen was getting ready to turn off her light and call it a day, she said a silent prayer for the pig, who was out among the coyotes.
She wondered how this pig was going to find his way back.
Back to a place he inhabited for less than a minute before bolting out of sight.
Then, the dogs in the dog yard went off.
If you are a musher, you know the different sounds of the dog yard.
This particular canine cacophony prompted AC Ellen to run outside in her P.J.’s, grabbing the headlamp off the hook by the door as she ran.
As she scanned the dog yard, she saw it.
It was the pig. He had returned.
He was frozen, standing in the middle of the dog yard.
There was only one thing AC Ellen could do.
Get out the lasso. The lariat. The essential tool of a Cowgirl.
It was nearing midnight when tiny AC Ellen began swinging the lasso with one hand, as the other hand was still out of commission from a surgery a week prior. A surgery she opted to have sans anesthetic, by the way.
Even one-handed, she still manages to snag the pig.
Every dog in the county reacted to the sound.
Squealing pig, dogs barking.
AC Ellen said he was like a salmon on the line. She reeled him in a foot at a time. One handed.
Yes, we love our Parallel Friends.
The ones who “get it”.
The ones who dash outside in the middle of the night in their pajamas, doning a headlamp, to lasso a pig with one hand tied behind their back.
Until tomorrow ~ God willing, and God bless our Parallel Friends,
Woodswoman
