Whale of a Tail Tale

Thursday evening everything was going smoothly. Or so I thought. Then my dear friend Krista comes to me and says, did you hear what happened? And so she unfolds for me a near tragedy! One of the little piggies who was picked to go home with her youngest boy got sort of cornered in the pen. This little piggy backed up and somehow wedged his little piggy tail in between the metal sidewall and a 2x4. He screamed and wriggled and yup, you guessed it and I'm almost horrified to say it, popped off his tail. Well, docked it, really. Left a couple inches. All in front of Krista's youngest boy! Her son cries, the piggy wails. It's all quite unbelievable.

Then Krista tells me my youngest boy comes up to his friend, the traumatized fledgling pig owner, and says, "It'll be okay. That's just what piggies do! They cut themselves, they bleed, but they get better! Don't worry (as he pats him), this piggy will live a long, happy life. It's just what piggies do." And he's right, all is well at this point. The piggy is okay now. The wound will heal; it is healing. But I don't know about the "long life" part (see previous blog) however.

So let's talk about my husband. Okay, so he feels completely responsible for this incident since he built the pen that the poor piggy injured himself in. He picks up "the tail" from atop a barrel on Thursday night and looks at it. "The tail!" he laments. I say, "The tail?! Ack! Get rid of the tail! I can't talk to you or look at you while you're holding the tail!" He agrees and disposes of the tail.

The next morning DH wakes up, rolls over, looks at me and says with a whimper in his voice, "the tail...."

There's my whale of a tail tale. Bet you've never heard that one before...or will since!