Pardon me, Boy…

Is that your Vietnamese pot belly pig?

Ok, maybe it’s a stretch for the Chatanooga ChooChoo reference.

But I was sort of humming it all day today, so thought I would work it into this entry.So, Sunday morning at 8am, ML and I are happily snoozing. Suddenly: BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Some one is banging on the front door. And there is this terrible, strange screaming noise.
“OMG!” I think. “Someone ran over one of the neighbors’ idiot redneck children!”

I throw on some pants, rush to the door, and there is a blonde woman on the front steps. She says: “Hi! Do you have a Vietnamese pot belly pig?”

She’s holding a very hairy, extremely pissed-off looking little pig, who does indeed have a pot belly. It’s probably a 45 lb. pig, and it lets out a little squeal every minute or two just to let us know that it is, in fact, one of the more intelligent mammals, and is fully conscious of the indignities to which is is being subjected to at this very minute.

Apparently Mr. Pig had been scurrying about the road in front of my house. The nice lady stopped, rather than hitting him, scooped him up and brought him to me. I declined an offer to acquire a pig (cheap!) and she plopped the pig in her lap and drove off in her Sedan.
She says she’ll post a flyer at the party store with her phone on it, in case you are missing a VPBP.