I was five years old and sitting on the back seat of a Studebaker when I saw the sign and asked my granny what it said. “Pigskin Davis Furniture” I thought that “Pigskin” was an interesting name, but what really impressed me was the commercial artists drawing of some old coot in jeans, boots and cowboy hat sitting astride a huge hog. After all, I knew where there was a pigpen.
Gathering up cousin Raymond I explained that before we could ride horses and be real cowpokes, we had to start small … like on a pig. Raymond thought that was a great idea.
One good thing about pigpens … they are easy to find. Just follow your nose.
We arrived about mid morning just when those hogs were getting lazy after their morning breakfast slop. A word of warning here. Eat not of the slops. The pigs do not take kindly to it !
The hogs watched us from where they had gathered in a corner of the pen, as we climbed the rail fence. Hopping down, I noticed that the ground was soft and muddy, though it hadn’t rained in a month. (It was in later years I figured out where all the moisture had come from. Instead of mud puddles this was pig piddles.
But I digress.
Raymond and I held a short conference with each pointing out a likely looking mount, while the pigs also held a conference as to which of them were going to eat us.
No gunfighter ever stalked a street any better than Raymond and I stalked our chosen swine. They didn’t stand a chance!
Mine lurched to the left, then dodged right, but I was ready for him. Leaping out, I managed to get both hands on his shoulders. It dragged me a few feet and left me face down in a pile of pig poop. I had just cleared my eyes of things that shan’t be named, when I see Raymond flying by me on the original Hogwarts Express, his eyes open wide, a big grin on his face and pig doody hanging from his ear. Determined, I manage to hop aboard my porker and set a new record set in the annals of pig racing.
I was rounding the pen and coming into the home stretch. Raymond was a half a pig ahead. To encourage a bit more speed I scream a Creek War Cry, but my pig spoke no Creek and came to a sudden stop. It’s plum amazing how slick a pig’s back can be. I go sailing over his head and grabbed at Raymond to keep from falling, which we both did after colliding with the poles that made up the fence. I had a lump and Raymond was shedding a bit of blood from a cut on his head, so we decide to call it a day.
Then came my grandmother. She made us strip down in the yard as we took turns pumping buckets of cold well water on each other. I think she had the sense of smell that would put Spot, our hound to shame. We just couldn’t get clean enough to suit her. She finally dumped a half a bottle of cheap perfume on each of us, but still made us eat outside and sleep on the back porch. Said she was surprised the old momma pig didn’t eat us and we were never to do that again. Durn! It seemed like such a good idea at the time!