Day The Hogs Got Loose

I's a-tellin' you whut's the gospel truth, I ain't never gonna git myself involved ever again with Press-tone Murphy and nonna his projects. Why, that man could screw up a one-car funeral and everbody knows it. And I knows it. Hit beats me why I don't jest leave him be. Well, come to think of hit, hit don't really beat me. I knows why. Ol' Press-tone is a generous sort. Whether hit's a woman or a jug a-shine, he's a-willin' to share. Sometimes both at the same time.

Anyways, I wuz by Press-tone's place last Saddy a-settin' on his front porch. He has a artificial, potted tree there ‘tween two rockers. Thas whur he keeps his shine there a-settin' in the pot when he has any which he usually does. We wuz a passin' the jug twixt us an' a-talkin' when he sez to me, he sez, "I needs you ta hep me fer a little spell this comin' Tuesday."

"Watch yer gonna do?" I sez back.
He sez, "You see them hogs out thar in the lot?"
A-course I could see them hogs and I could smell ‘em better'n I could see ‘em, so I sez, "Yep."
And he sez ta me, he sez, "I needs ta haul most of ‘em into Milton to the livestock auction and I needs somebody ta hep me."

I sez, "Why don't ya git a-holt of ole Benny Gee? He's gotta livestock truck and he hauls animals all over the county fer everbody?"

"He charges too much," he sez back. "And he wants to take ‘em on Monday which means I'll hafta pay a pen and boarding fee to the barn plus the commission fer sellin' ‘em. What I aim to do is ta haul ‘em down thar myself and jes back up to the gate and run ‘em through the auction. That way all I'll hafta pay is the commission. I raised them hogs and I don't see no reason ta be a-givin' ma profits away ta other folks."

"That sounds like a good idea," I sez.
"Hit is. Hit is a good idea and it come outa this jug a-shine," he sez. "I wuz jest a-settin' here yestiddy and a-drinkin' on the first part of hit and the idea jest come to me. And the more I drunk, the better the idea got. Why, hit ain't nothin' like a good jug a-shine ta give a feller ideas. And there ain't no tellin' what kinda ideas they is in this bottom part."

I sez ta him, I sez, "Watch yer gonna haul ‘em in? We can't git ‘em in the bed of yore pickup."
"That trailer rat over thar," he sez.
"That's jest a two-wheel, flat bed trailer," I sez. "Hit don't have no sides. You know them hogs ain't gonna jest stand there on it whilst you drive ‘em down the road."
And he sez to me, he sez, "That's where the shine come in. Hits done give me the idea on what ta do. You just show up Tuesday morning and I'll be ready fer ya."
I said I would and we rocked and finished the shine. Thar wasn't no more ideas in it though.

Well, I showed up this mornin' and Press-tone wuz ready. He had done taken some scrap lumber and some plyboard and built little sides around that trailer. He had the hogs separated out, too, with the one's we ‘uz a-takin' in the near lot. "How many is we a-takin'?" I sez.
He sez, "13." And I stopped and give ‘em a funny look. "Wot's wrong?" he sez.

And I sez to ‘im, "I don't like to be a-foolin' with nothing that adds up to 13. Couldn't you jest leave one or add another one?"

"Naw, I can't," he sez. "I'm a -keepin' my breedin' stock and these here is what I wanna sell. 13 is jest a number like any other number."
"No, hit ain't," I sez. "Hit's the devil's number and is to be avoided. But since I done tol' you I'd hep, I's gonna hep but I don't feel easy about it."

Then Press-tone backed that trailer up to the lot gate and let the tailgate down. We opened the gate and left it a-stickin' straight out. Press-tone said it would give us somethin' to run the hogs up against and hep direct them onto the trailer. Hit worked jest like Press-tone said. We'd run some around the lot fence and when they'd come to that gate a-stickin' out, they'd jest swerve on up onto the trailer. After we'd got seven up thar, we took two pieces of plyboard ‘bout three foot high and pushed the hogs up to the front part of the trailer. Then Press-tone got a hammer and some nails and nailed through the sides into the ends of the plyboard and made a little fence across the middle of the trailer. The pieces over lapped in the middle so he nailed them together. "We gotta keep them balanced on each sida this axel," he sez. "That's another idea I got from that jug a-shine. You jest don't get good shine like that very often." We run the other six up on the trailer and Press-tone closed the tailgate. We wuz ready to go.

Press-tone eased down the gravel lane to the main road. I kept a-lookin' back at the trailer and ever thing seemed okay. Hit rode even better on the blacktop. I tol' Press-tone that ever thang looked good. "A-course they do," he sez. "That jug a-shine has done got me to think all this out. We only got ‘bout three mile to the stock barn. We'll jest go straight through Milton. They's only one stop light and the barn's only ‘bout a half mile tother side of it.
Things wuz goin' so good that I quit a-lookin' back at the trailer. As we wuz a-gettin' into Milton, we seemed to be a-slowin' down but the engine seemed to be a-runnin' faster. "How fast does you think we's a-goin'?" sez Press-tone.

"Well, a-judgin' by the fence posts and mail boxes a-goin' by, I'd say ‘bout 35 or so," I sez.
"Then somethin' ain't right," he sez. "My speed-o-meter says 85."

I turnt ‘round and looked at the trailer and I sez. "Lordy mercy, Press-tone, them hogs has done knocked down yore middle fence and they's all in the back and got that front end hiked up so high ‘til yore back wheels ain't even on the ground." Well, Press-tone hit the brakes which he shouldn't orta done. They caught jest enough ta make all them hogs come ta the front and drop it down. I's a-tellin' you them rear tars musta been a-goin' ‘bout 80 when they hit that ass-fault. I ain't never heard such schreechin' in all my life. And the smoke rose up like a brush far and the smell was somethin' fierce. The truck took off like one a them drag racers I seen one Sunday afternoon at the track over at Calhoun. My head snapped back and I guess woulda gone out the back winder iffen it hadn't a-hit Press-tone's shotgun in the gun rack. The gun went off and blowed a big hole in the side of the cab on the driver's side.

Well, hit didn't take long fer that ass-fault ta run through what little tread wuz on them tars and git down to the rims. They give better traction but they didn't stay on the ground too long cause that sudden jump forward throwed the hogs to the back liftin' the wheels up again. Thas when all sorts of bolts and gear pieces begun to fly outa the truck's rear end. ‘Bout that time Press-tone lost control and we run out through the bar-ditch and up against a culvert. The trailer jackknifed and tipped over a-spillin' all them hogs out into one big pile.

Press-tone jumped out a-yellin' some words that ain't fit for the ears of women-folk and chillun. The hogs seemed sorta addled from all the jerkin' about and we had ‘em sorta piled up ‘tween the truck and the trailer and the culvert. I thought we shoulda kept them thar as best we could ‘til we could git some hep but Press-tone warn't a-havin' none a that. As I has done said many-a-time, "that man couldn't organize a piss-off in a brewery." So, he grabbed up a dead tree limb from outa the ditch and sez, "Taint fer to the stock barn. We kin jest drive ‘em on down the road." Afore I could stop him he started in to pesterin' them hogs with that limb and got ‘em all stirred up and a-runnin' up the road. A course hit wasn't nothin' fer me to do but ta grab up a nother limb and try ta hep ‘im.

Anyways, the hogs were a-stayin' in the road pretty good ‘til cars come along a-blowin' they horns and the drivers a-hollerin' at us and the hogs. This set them to a-runnin' off in all directions and things started to be like a-tryin' to herd a flock of cats. I tried to head those back up on the rat side of the road but I learnt pretty quick that when a 500 pound hog sets his mind to go someplace, a dead tree limb ain't too much of a hindrance. One of ‘em took a notion to go through Miz Perkins' yard where she was a-hangin' out clothes on the line. He got hung up in a sheet and some other stuff and ended up a-pullin' the whole line down and a-draggin' hit and all the clean clothes two yards over afore he got loose from it. Miz Perkins wuz a-jumpin' up and down and a-screamin' and a-throwin' clothes pins at me and the hog but I didn't have the time rat then to stop and console her none.

Hit seemed like all the commotion set some of the hogs a-lookin' fer a refuge to git into and hide. Thas what happened at the boo-teaks. Thas what that new woman in town calls that little store she'd jest opened which was full of all them frilly clothes fer women. Anyways, she opened the screen door and looked out to see what wuz a-causin ‘ all the fuss and the first thang she saw wuz a big Poland-China a-headin' rat fer her shop. She started a-screamin' and slammed the door but that screen warn't no impediment to that hog. He went in and made about three rounds inside afore he come out with some of them lacy thangs a-hangin' onto ‘im. He still had ‘em on when they caught ‘im down by the stock barn.

But the worst thang that happened on my side of the road wuz at the funeral home. They wuz jest a-finishin' up old man Sol Hankins funeral and they had them double wide doors open and wuz a-carryin' the casket out to put it into the hearse. Two big Hampshires run in them doors and mowed down them pall bearers like they wuz pins in a bowlin' alley. When the casket hit the ground, the lid popped open and old Sol come out like he'd been raptured. All the screamin' soon turned the two hogs on up the road.

By this time half the men in town wuz out with ropes, brooms, rakes, sticks, and all manner of stuff either a-drivin' or a-catchin' hogs. When the main herd went through the intersection, the light wuz red but the hogs didn't pay it no mind. Everbody finally got ‘em drove up to the fence at the stock barn and then put ‘em into some empty pens. There wuz only 11 of ‘em. A couple of fellows said they saw two of ‘em a-headin' down into Slab Town and they said they warn't about to go down thar and mess with them folks. The section got it's name from the folk a-usin' log slabs from the saw mill as sidin' fer they houses. I think they have quit a-doin' that but they's still a rough bunch of people. Anyways, somebody said they'd have those hogs butchered and the meat divided up amongst themselves afore dark.

The Sheriff come and ‘rested both me and Press-tone. We wuz charged with a whole page of things. I tole him that them warn't nonna my hogs, that I wuz jest a-helpin' Press-tone. He said that made me some sort of a cessory, whatever in the hell that is. I didn't know that wuz any kind of crime but hit must be ‘cause he put me in jail. He put us in different cells which wuz good ‘cause I wuz a-thinkin' seriously ‘bout a-killin' ol' Press-tone. But I have calmed down a rat smart now and see that that would only put him out of his misery.

Folks been a-comin' by the jail all afternoon a-givin' the Sheriff lists of things that the hogs ruint or tore up. Some of ‘em talked about suin' for pain and sufferin', whatever that is. I suppose hit may a been somethin' like when Miz Hankins peed in the floor at the funeral home. Some even talked about a lynchin' but the Sheriff put that down pretty quick.

I think ol' Press-tone's gonna come out way behind on this escapade. He's in jail and the hogs is in the stock barn. They couldn't sell ‘em on Tuesday ‘cause they didn't have no papers on ‘em. So, Press-tone's gonna hafta pay a whole week of boardin' fees until next week's sale. And with two of ‘em gone to Slab Town, I's sure he won't git enough to pay the boardin' and auction fees, plus put a new rear end and wheels on his truck, plus payin' fer all the things the hogs tore up. Yessir, I'm a-tellin ‘ you, if hit don't involve one of those night waitresses from out at the truck stop or a jug a-shine, you'd best stay clear of ol' Press-tone Murphy or you're jest likely to become a cessory and to find yore sorry ass a-settin'in jail.

Next: The Whuppin 

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