Ham

Today was around 90 degrees. It was sunny and perfectly matched for a trip to the beach. Thankfully, some friends invited us to theirs. Yes, their own beach. We got to ride in a "lift" to go down to it. It was beautiful, sandy, shallow (which is great for our little kids). The tubing was a blast, no water-skiiers were able to right themselves, and the water was fine.

My husband's brother Timmy was out trying his luck on the skis. I was on shore, insuring that my one-year-old didn't feed all the Doritos to the dog. And I began to hear the word "pig" being tossed around.

"Pig!!!"

"Pig?" Yelling across the lake, of course.

"Yes, pig! Like p-i-g!"

Now Timmy wouldn't fit the description of "thin" or "lean," but pig? Really? But it just kept flying back and forth in our group.

"Pig? What do you mean?"

"It's a pig!"

My mind scanned over every possible meaning of the word. If it's not a demeaning name for Timmy. . . could it be the basketball game? Maybe someone's lake shore cabin has an inflated pig with water lapping at its feet? Are there police scanning the lake? It even traced my mind that there could be an actual pig in the water.

Sure enough, I look out by the boat, and there's a pink-ish thing clumsily jutting in and out of the water. So the guys reached out of the boat, and scooped up the exhausted baby. They were quite literally in the middle of the lake. We have no idea from where it emerged or how long it had been fighting for its little life, but there it was.

They got back to the dock, and my sister-in-law held him on her lap while quickly becoming surrounded by kids and curious adults. It pooped on her lap, thus ending it's relaxation period.

One of the teenagers nearby took it up to the house and found a dog kennel for it to stay in. She proceeded to try convincing her dad that she should keep it.

I called my best friend who happened to grow up on a pig farm. She informed me that given its cat-like size, it may not be weaned yet. And if it was, it would eat more than we could ever imagine, dig huge holes, and completely eradicate any trace of grass in our yard.

My husband wanted it something fierce. It's free Thanksgiving dinner, he argued. He also called our chef friend to ask if he knew how to cook the thing.

At the end of the night, we found a kind lady who takes in every kind of living thing and has a hobby farm of sorts. So off he went to be loved on. Tomorrow we may find a spider web that reads "Terrific" or "Some Pig." Who knows? But a pig that can swim that far for that long would most certainly be deserving of that kind of title.