Dad and I had been left to our own devices... As was sometimes the case, the absence of my mother's mitigating influence allowed an interesting situation to evolve that would never have had a snowball's chance in her presence. Thinking back, it's amazing that she left Dad and I alone as often as she did.
Mother and little sister had driven from the farm to the city of Corpus Christi, Texas. They had a doctor's appointment and planned to use the balance of the day shopping for a new outfit or two.
After lunch, I was sprawled on the side porch of the house, gouging seeds from a slice of cool watermelon. Closing my eyes, I can still almost taste the icy sweetness of that melon from so many years ago, its juice trickling down my chin and being wiped away on the damp sleeve of my shirt, leaving a sticky film in its place.
Dad was gathering tools and supplies that were tossed in the back of his old Ford pick up truck to repair fences damaged by a yearling calf overcome by wanderlust. Alston Brown pulled up through the ruts leading to the house and braked. As he stopped a plume of caliche dust rolled over and past his truck. It was soon swept away in the strong, warm, coastal breeze. Alston owned the local hardware in town and contracted plumbing and electrical work for people in and around the nearby town of Premont.
His truck was a source of ongoing wonder to me. It was filled with a large variety of interesting things. Plumbing and electrical supplies were tossed randomly into the bed of the pick up. There were numerous tools, a lariat rope, a shotgun, magazines, a partial case of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco and countless other items of general interest as they might prove useful or of some value at some point in the future. I loved that truck, and busied myself taking inventory of new or previously overlooked items as he and Dad greeted each other.
Some time had passed before I noticed the two of them grinning, nodding and looking my way, knowingly. Dad gestured with a wave of his arm that I should join them. I bailed out of the bed of the truck and trotted over to find out what was up. I wasn't disappointed as Alston told me that he had come into possession of an extremely fine specimen of a young Javelina, or peccary.
These are small hog-like animals native to the dry, brushy coastal regions of South Texas.They also range into West Texas, Southern New Mexico and the desserts of Arizona. In the wild their diet consists of the roots of various cactus, snakes, insects and careless small rodents. They are very social and roam in groups or "packs" that range in number from three or four to twenty or so. Their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. The major handicap they live with is that of being extremely near-sighted. When a young javelina is captured, they tame very quickly and make excellent pets. A small one will readily adopt a human as its parent and become extremely affectionate and protective in their presence. However, they are also apt to inflict serious injury to any other animal or person perceived as a threat to their adopted parent or themselves.
It was Alston's judgment, with Dad's consent, that I would be the perfect choice to rear this little pig. I never understood how he convinced Dad that his choice was logical as well. All I knew was that he had been successful, and my boy's gratitude knew no bounds. We went into town, stopped at Alston's house and claimed my new pet. I was thrilled to see that the small female was quite gentle and instantly responded to my caresses and scratching on her stomach and behind her ears. We were inseparable from the first. Dad and I began to ponder where we could keep her on the way home. There was no suitable pen or enclosure for her.
We finally came up with an obvious, if temporary, solution. The farmhouse had a basement. It was nothing fancy, you understand. It had an earthen floor and was, for all practical purposes, largely unfinished. We both knew and agreed that Mother would never approve of this choice on a permanent basis, but that it should be alright as we expected to have a pen prepared tomorrow anyway. Surely, we could get away with it for one night.
Exchanging knowing glances, we realized the value of silence in this particular situation. Just for tonight, mum was the word! Pulling up to the house, we carried my new friend into the cellar and brought down the watermelon I had been working on earlier. She relished it hugely. It looked like this was all going to work out fine after all.
Swinging the cellar doors back into place, we saw Mom and sister return home within a very few minutes. Relieved that we had not been caught in the act, we followed the women into the house, and Mother began recanting events from the day as she prepared supper. She loved her trips to Corpus.
Somewhat later, the meal being set, we gathered around the table, and followed Dad's lead. Clasping hands and bowing our heads, Dad began to give thanks. In the middle of his first sentence a distinct sound rose, then faded slowly away. "Waaaaaank," it resounded. I cautiously cracked an eye open, glanced at Pop and saw his knuckles go white.
His eyes opened slightly and rolled in my direction. "What was that sound?" Mother asked. "Something outside, I guess," was my nervous reply. Dad, much to his credit, smiled, closed his eyes, and tried to continue. The sound rose again. "Waaaaaank," it reverberated!
Mother sat up very straight and slapped her palms loudly, flat down on the table top! As she rose, I could see the small veins protruding on her forehead. A muscle worked strongly in her firmly set jaw. I looked at Dad with wide eyes. This was going to be very bad.
"There's a #%$&*%! HOG in MY house!", She bellowed. I felt the blood drain from my face. I had never heard Mother curse before. It was no small surprise to discover that she could do a really bang up job of it! Glancing once again at Dad, I saw his left eye twitch slightly. Outrage was a woefully inadequate word to describe Mom's level of distress.
We finished supper in an aura of stony silence. Dad and I went through the mechanics of finishing a meal that we no longer had any appetite for. This was one time I was grateful not to be an adult.
In later years we would come to recall that evening to the sounds of laughter and good natured kidding. It was a time, however brief, that my mother lost her religion...and I discovered mine.
I did get to keep the pig...
Mother and little sister had driven from the farm to the city of Corpus Christi, Texas. They had a doctor's appointment and planned to use the balance of the day shopping for a new outfit or two.
After lunch, I was sprawled on the side porch of the house, gouging seeds from a slice of cool watermelon. Closing my eyes, I can still almost taste the icy sweetness of that melon from so many years ago, its juice trickling down my chin and being wiped away on the damp sleeve of my shirt, leaving a sticky film in its place.
Dad was gathering tools and supplies that were tossed in the back of his old Ford pick up truck to repair fences damaged by a yearling calf overcome by wanderlust. Alston Brown pulled up through the ruts leading to the house and braked. As he stopped a plume of caliche dust rolled over and past his truck. It was soon swept away in the strong, warm, coastal breeze. Alston owned the local hardware in town and contracted plumbing and electrical work for people in and around the nearby town of Premont.
His truck was a source of ongoing wonder to me. It was filled with a large variety of interesting things. Plumbing and electrical supplies were tossed randomly into the bed of the pick up. There were numerous tools, a lariat rope, a shotgun, magazines, a partial case of Mail Pouch chewing tobacco and countless other items of general interest as they might prove useful or of some value at some point in the future. I loved that truck, and busied myself taking inventory of new or previously overlooked items as he and Dad greeted each other.
Some time had passed before I noticed the two of them grinning, nodding and looking my way, knowingly. Dad gestured with a wave of his arm that I should join them. I bailed out of the bed of the truck and trotted over to find out what was up. I wasn't disappointed as Alston told me that he had come into possession of an extremely fine specimen of a young Javelina, or peccary.
These are small hog-like animals native to the dry, brushy coastal regions of South Texas.They also range into West Texas, Southern New Mexico and the desserts of Arizona. In the wild their diet consists of the roots of various cactus, snakes, insects and careless small rodents. They are very social and roam in groups or "packs" that range in number from three or four to twenty or so. Their sense of smell and hearing are excellent. The major handicap they live with is that of being extremely near-sighted. When a young javelina is captured, they tame very quickly and make excellent pets. A small one will readily adopt a human as its parent and become extremely affectionate and protective in their presence. However, they are also apt to inflict serious injury to any other animal or person perceived as a threat to their adopted parent or themselves.
It was Alston's judgment, with Dad's consent, that I would be the perfect choice to rear this little pig. I never understood how he convinced Dad that his choice was logical as well. All I knew was that he had been successful, and my boy's gratitude knew no bounds. We went into town, stopped at Alston's house and claimed my new pet. I was thrilled to see that the small female was quite gentle and instantly responded to my caresses and scratching on her stomach and behind her ears. We were inseparable from the first. Dad and I began to ponder where we could keep her on the way home. There was no suitable pen or enclosure for her.
We finally came up with an obvious, if temporary, solution. The farmhouse had a basement. It was nothing fancy, you understand. It had an earthen floor and was, for all practical purposes, largely unfinished. We both knew and agreed that Mother would never approve of this choice on a permanent basis, but that it should be alright as we expected to have a pen prepared tomorrow anyway. Surely, we could get away with it for one night.
Exchanging knowing glances, we realized the value of silence in this particular situation. Just for tonight, mum was the word! Pulling up to the house, we carried my new friend into the cellar and brought down the watermelon I had been working on earlier. She relished it hugely. It looked like this was all going to work out fine after all.
Swinging the cellar doors back into place, we saw Mom and sister return home within a very few minutes. Relieved that we had not been caught in the act, we followed the women into the house, and Mother began recanting events from the day as she prepared supper. She loved her trips to Corpus.
Somewhat later, the meal being set, we gathered around the table, and followed Dad's lead. Clasping hands and bowing our heads, Dad began to give thanks. In the middle of his first sentence a distinct sound rose, then faded slowly away. "Waaaaaank," it resounded. I cautiously cracked an eye open, glanced at Pop and saw his knuckles go white.
His eyes opened slightly and rolled in my direction. "What was that sound?" Mother asked. "Something outside, I guess," was my nervous reply. Dad, much to his credit, smiled, closed his eyes, and tried to continue. The sound rose again. "Waaaaaank," it reverberated!
Mother sat up very straight and slapped her palms loudly, flat down on the table top! As she rose, I could see the small veins protruding on her forehead. A muscle worked strongly in her firmly set jaw. I looked at Dad with wide eyes. This was going to be very bad.
"There's a #%$&*%! HOG in MY house!", She bellowed. I felt the blood drain from my face. I had never heard Mother curse before. It was no small surprise to discover that she could do a really bang up job of it! Glancing once again at Dad, I saw his left eye twitch slightly. Outrage was a woefully inadequate word to describe Mom's level of distress.
We finished supper in an aura of stony silence. Dad and I went through the mechanics of finishing a meal that we no longer had any appetite for. This was one time I was grateful not to be an adult.
In later years we would come to recall that evening to the sounds of laughter and good natured kidding. It was a time, however brief, that my mother lost her religion...and I discovered mine.
I did get to keep the pig...
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