*(This story takes place when the boys were very small.)
We've always named the animals that have lived close to our hearts and house. My husband and I graduated from the school of thought that animals have personality; therefore it's natural to give them a moniker.
Sometimes the names reflected the character of the beast - Hercules the lamb overcame the challenge of being the rejected triplet; Nibbles the goat ate every garden plant within reach. Occasionally the names resulted from flights of fancy, names such as Delphina.
Delphina was a pig. A very beautiful pig and worthy of her name. Her hide glowed a healthy pink, stubby yet shapely legs supported lovely, meaty hams, and her eyes twinkled with perpetual good cheer. She oinked a greeting, standing for a scratch behind the ears anytime a visitor arrived at her pen. Inevitably, Delphina became a pet.
We raised our pigs to fill the freezer and supplement the endless supply of lamb we ate. They came to us as weaners, after they'd lost their cute piglet looks. We'd fatten them up for a few months and then enjoy a supply of Sunday roasts and chops.
Delphina presented a problem when we couldn't resist her charms and fell in love with her quirky personality. She was just so darn cute! We even overlooked her major fault - a penchant for escaping from her pen. More often than he liked, Goddy arrived home to find me with a baby in my arms, shouting out the window, "Delphina's out, again."
He'd sigh and wonder if he couldn't please have a cup of tea first, but one look at my red face and hair standing on end was answer enough. He'd trudge off to try and capture the darling.
Anyone who's chased a pig knows it's an exercise in futility. Those critters seem to have rubber bones andthere are few appendages to grab hold of. Delphina's short legs became a blur of motion with Goddy in hot pursuit, dark thoughts of our "pet" flashing through his mind. He really knew better than to try herding her, but there was something compelling about the chase. Must be the hunter instinct in a man.
Eventually, he'd resort to rattling a can of pig pellets. Delphina loved those pellets but when she was on the lam she paid the offering scant attention. Those food related cliches about pigs are meaningless when your pig doesn't want to go back to her house.
Faced with Delphina's stubborn refusal, Goddy stomped back to our house for that cup of tea, letting his temper simmer down too. He'd attempt to work out a game plan, but in reality Delphina made all the rules. First, galumph around for a while, rooting in interesting places. Then pretend to head for the road, veering off just before the gateway. Explore the laundry line and chew on those tasty leather labels on the jeans. Lead the man in a futile chase before refusing food. Lie in the sun for a bit while the man is having his tea, then jog meekly back to the pen when food is offered again.
There were variations on this theme but it always ended with Delphina trotting along, pink ears flapping to the rhythm of her fat little legs and her snout raised in glee. It was impossible to hold a grudge against such a cheerful pig.
I'm pleased to say that Delphina's story has a happy ending. The empty freezer loomed before us but we couldn't bring ourselves to fill it with our carefree pig. We sent her back to the farm she'd come from, where she became a breeding sow and produced many fine litters of piglets.
This is Delphina, and I'm holding two of her babies.(P.S. We got anonymous pork after that, except for one time, but that's another story...)
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