A pig’s snout is a thing to behold. Like a shovel with nostrils, it is a tool to get to the underneath of things. I hope this isn’t too boorish, but when I’m not lying around or eating slop and such, I’m digging. I push the dirt with a piggy-backed question, “Why has Thou made me thus?”

I remember three little pigs, on their own, trying to make an abode for themselves. In one account they all ended up at the brick layer’s house, safe from the wolf, and free to eat table scraps at the table. They drank wine instead of whining. With forks wedged in their hooves and napkins laid nicely on their awkward laps they had deep discussions and searched for meaning.

Then Wilbur, the talking pig, (Or was he a horse?) made a spider’s acquaintance. Although he was a runt, a little girl saved him from slaughter. He grew in stature amongst all the barnyard hullabaloos. Charotte the spider and her little web fulfilled her purpose and left Wilbur in a better state of mind.

Remember the pigs with their four legs? Some of them went after it, and convinced the rest that four legs are superior to two. With the farmer killed they began their own governance; the estate became a true Animal Farm. Ohr, well.

There are several other notable pigs of which I shall leave in name only, Porky, Babe, Emmet, and some pigs in space. Add your own piggy tale in the comments below if you wish.

I remember the world’s largest pig at the Centerville County Fair. I had to pay five bucks to go behind the curtain. The sell was a loudspeaker blaring: “Holy Hog! Would you look at the size of those pork chops!”

We had a couple of pigs named Thelma and Louise once; they weren’t driven off a cliff in a demonic takeover though.  

So, next Sunday, when you’re taking a bite of spiral sliced ham, take a moment and thank God He didn’t make you thus.