Mr. Chops has left us. He died June 1st which was a time that befit him because it was a Sunday and he usually consumed many thousands of calories each Sunday. His favorite day to eat from sunup to sundown was always Sunday.
He was even learning to eat in his sleep when he choked to death on a forty pound pig pretzel. He ran out of cold beer at the most inopportune of moments right when the pretzel kind of backed up on him. It is said he was the oldest pig to ever live but, as we all know, few pigs get a chance to live past the distinction of being a number one porker. Americans are especially fond of barbecued ribs and pork chops.
And by the way, how would you learn the age of a pig? Mr. Chops was intelligent but he could not talk. If you run up on a boar hog in a South Georgia swamp and you ask him his age he might say, “Who gives a rip?” Then he’ll illustrate a good rip to sensitive parts of your body with razor sharp tusks (this right before he laughs you under a cypress knee for trying to talk to a pig).
But Mr. Chops had witnesses to his age. He was just 17 days shy of being 22 years old and ever since he was ten years old, hundreds of people from miles around would gather for the “Annual Mr. Chops Birthday Bash.” The crowds would joyfully sing, “Happy Birthday” to Mr. Chops. Mr. Chops would oink back in sincere porker appreciation.
He had many talents. He could run figure eights around his owner’s legs on command. He loved watching TV. His favorite game was “Hide and Seek.” His owner would scatter Cheerios over the kitchen floor as a treat for him. He could find a treat in a towel and roll out a rug. He could dance left and then dance right. He could heel, sit, stay and count by nodding his head. He loved to sit in his owner’s lap for a hug. I think that’s a picture of her in the red tee-shirt holding him and I’m not really sure she has a lap ample enough to hold Mr. Chops but then somehow she seemed to manage.
He wore a red turtleneck sweater when he took walks in the winter. During his last year the owner’s hubby Mr. Wally prepared and fed Mr. Chops warm dinners.
I have been practicing to take Mr. Chops place there at the Critter Barn. I think I will be perfect to take his place. I’m trying to get Katie Mae to help me train.
Katie Mae is having a bit of a struggle while I’m training to take Mr. Chops’ place.
I have pretty much mastered all his tricks. She even prepares me warm evening meals and wearing a red turtleneck sweater on walks this coming winter will be a snap.
I sensed reluctance on her part when she said, “I am not letting a damned pig sit in my lap while I hug on him.” I’m pretty sure she means me and this morning when I scattered Cheerios all over her kitchen floor, she beat the hell out of me with a broom handle. You should see my right ankle.