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The Pig and the Long Day

I was born on a farm. My family wasn't farmers, but my family rented a farmhouse, a few outbuildings, and corrals that we called home. My dad was a heavy equipment operator and bridge builder. You can thank him for working on many roadways bridges and reservoirs in Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska. Mom was a stay-at-home mom raising three boys, including me, the perfect one. We moved to town when I was four years old.


This story is not about where I lived as a child, it is not about my dad or even my mom. It is about a pig, well, maybe two pigs. I don't have many memories of living on the farm. Maybe the memories that I have are because my older brother talks about how much he hated the farm. I do remember we had a collie dog named Lassie. And I remember the day my dad brought home four pigs, three pink pigs. and one black, and white pig. I can't say how or why, but I became attached to the black-and-white pig. I remember the sounds the pig made and how much fun it was to hear them.


When we moved to town we/I did not take my pig. I have a few ideas about what happened to my pig but, I have no proof. Needless to say, I never saw my pig again. Over the years, I haven't given the pig much thought, but I never fully trusted my parents again.


A month or so ago, a friend of our store, Your Daily Fiber, sent an email alerting us that a local livestock auction house was having an auction selling hogs, sheep, goats, llamas, yaks, and horses. Our friend thought I might be in the market for yaks, which I was.


Had I been paying attention, I should have known the livestock would be sold in the order I listed above. The auction was scheduled to start at 9:00 AM. I arrived and got settled a few minutes late. The auctioneer announced they would be starting the auction with a single pig. They brought out a baby pig (piglet) It was about the size of a football with legs. It was BLACK-and-WHITE. I had solved the mystery. Standing in front of me was my pig. I was so excited. Unfortunately, common sense took over and I didn't bid for my pig. They sold my pig, for ten dollars.


I sat at the auction for another TEN hours before the yaks were sold. (Which I bought one.) Sitting there all that time, I regretted not buying that pig. What if the person who bought the pig was not a good person? Was my pig going to a good home? What were they going to name it? My pig was just gone.....again.


Two weeks ago the same friend who sent the yak email, sent another email informing us that yaks were to be sold again. My mind raced, what if the creep that bought my pig had to return it? Were they going to give me another chance?


Sometimes I have extended bouts of common sense. I started thinking that buying the pig would not be fair to the pig. I don't have a house for a pig that a wolf could not blow down. The pig would need to share the barn with the yaks. That didn't seem right.


I decided not to chance to buy the pig by going to the auction late. I would arrive closer to the start of the yak sale. My plan worked, the hogs and pigs were sold before.


When I say my plan worked, I may not being truthful. I went to the auction to buy yaks. But those (construction language) auctioneers announced they would be selling, a six-day-old BLACK-and-WHITE baby donkey. I love black and white.


Again, I remembered I was there for yaks. I had been at the auction for eight hours already. I decided not to wait for the donkey. I bought a cow, calf pair. I thought about buying more, but I could only raise the prices the other yak buyers paid. I didn't stay for the donkey and I do have regrets. Think how much fun I would have telling Elaine we own a baby donkey.


Love ya, God Bless, buy yarn


Here's the yaks, new and old

Our crazy lives!


Monner

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