I wish this was a work of fiction, but sadly, my life is this insane.

Transporting the Pig (or Ham on the Lam, as we like to call it)
I have often been told, once I launch into one of my stories that these things could never happen to anybody else. Being the modest soul I am, I reply, “Of course, they could! My life isn’t any more interesting than anybody else’s…. It’s just all in the way you look at it.” After this last adventure, I may be inclined to agree with all those people. This stuff truly does not happen to anybody else.
Let me begin by introducing you to Chloe. Now, Chloe is a pot bellied pig, not the typical hog variety from which our many fine breakfast foods come, but the pet variety. However, pigs being pigs, Chloe liked to eat, and soon outgrew her environment (that environment being our neighbor’s house). In addition, Chloe is the Houdini of the animal kingdom. She has more magic in her little cloven hooves than half the hacks in Vegas. There isn’t a door, a fence, or a harness that can hold this girl when she’s ready to go.
Sadly, city streets being what they are, we could all envision poor Chloe coming to a bad end. She liked to wander the neighborhood, rooting for particularly tasty flower bulbs. The first time I was introduced to Chloe, I was lying in bed, and I heard the strangest noises right outside my window. This sort of snorting, snuffling sound that was unmistakably porcine. Not being a farm girl, myself, I made Emily come listen and confirm, that there was indeed a pig snorting around outside my bedroom (it would not be the first time a pig had been snorting around outside my bedroom, it would just be the first time it was a pig with four legs and a cute, little curly tail).
It wasn’t too long after that, once again in my night clothes, that there came a knock on my door fairly late at night. It was some random person from the neighborhood inquiring if that was my pig in the road, cause it was bound to get hit. I informed them, that no indeed, that was not my pig, but her owners could be located two houses down.
Poor Chloe was fast becoming a delinquent pig, forever running away from home.
It just so happened that Emily’s parents own a farm, and that they once had a pot bellied pig for a pet. Emily’s father was simply in love with the idea of having another one, and so she spoke with the neighbor, and after much consideration, it was decided by one and all that Chloe would be much safer and much happier in the country. The trick, however, was getting her there. And this, my friends, is where the adventure really begins.
Pigs are not the most aerodynamic of creatures, not a whole lot of spring in the step if you catch my meaning. It could be because they have those tiny, almost dainty little legs with a keg like body sitting right on top of them. We made all the preparations for this trip. We went to the local PetSmart and bought a large dog harness in the most alarming shade of drag-queen purple you’ve ever seen, and with it a matching leash. The harness went on the pig okay, and as long as we were just walking her around in the neighborhood, she was fine with that. When it came to leading her into a vehicle, that is when things began to go downhill. Maybe it is some sort of Darwinian response, maybe animals, particularly those that it is socially acceptable to consume in this country, have some sort of instinct about getting into vehicles with something that is higher up on the food chain. Call it farfetched, but if this pig is smart enough to open a gate, she’s smart enough to have a sense of self preservation. You remember that line from Silence of the Lambs, where Hannibal and Clarice are talking about the lambs screaming. Well, I imagine that this is sort of what that sounded like. That pig screamed, squalled, hollered and carried on loud enough to wake the dead.
Self preservation aside, there are some things that make even the smartest girls do things they’ll regret. In my case, it is usually vodka. In Chloe’s case, it’s Doritos. So, with the help of our neighbor, and particularly her husband, we lifted this pig into the tarp shrouded backseat of a Saturn Ion. They should give us our very own commercial for this, I swear. Maybe they could steal the line from Capital One, only instead of your wallet, it would ask, “What’s in your Saturn?”
Emily is the brave one. I just drove the car. Sort of sounds like a liquor store hold up when you put it that way, but there you have it. Within five minutes of being on the road, Emily was covered in things I can’t even begin to discuss. Chloe, being the adventurer that she is, took to travel by automobile reasonably well. She even sniffed and snorted around a little bit to acclimate herself to her environment. It is more than a little unnerving to drive a car with a pig’s snout stuck in your ribcage. Eventually, however, Chloe settled in and was easily mollified by the occasional nacho flavored snack. I was driving extra careful, and I admit it freely, slower than I have driven in years! But, this pig had already let loose with a couple of her bodily functions and the last thing I wanted was more of them.
Everything was going along just fine. We were maybe ten minutes away from the farm, which was more than thirty country miles from where we started, when this redneck yahoo without a muffler decided he needed to pass us. So, Chloe starts to get nervous, and she proceeds to prance around on Emily’s thighs. So we bribed her with more Doritos. In retrospect, this may not have been our best idea. I will say this about pigs and Doritos. Keep your windows down. There is no fart as noxious as the fart of a nervous pig with a love of junk food.
We did eventually reach the farm, without further mishap. I drove the rest of the way with my shirt pulled up over my nose. I really did look like I’d been party to a hold up of some sort. When we finally gotto the farm, Chloe was having none of it. She was done with people, she was particularly done with us, and whatever we had led her to, well she just wasn’t going to budge. So, Emily’s dad, Emily and myself, had to literally lift the pig out of the backseat with the tarp, using it like a sling. Once her little cloven hooves were on nonmoving ground, she seemed a little more willing to forgive us. Eventually, we herded her to her new pen. She got to meet the ducks and the geese, and the puppies. And I imagine, as long as the Doritos keep coming, life will be just fine.
Now, for me, the best part of this story was getting to tell it to my friends, particularly Denise, who until I took her to Jellico for the first time had never seen a chicken not wrapped in plastic and resting on its very own Styrofoam tray. So, I call her up and leave her this message on her answering machine about how I’ll be out of touch for the day because I’m going to be transporting a pig. Well, her mother got the message before she did, and Sue thinks that “transporting the pig” is code for something, I don’t know if it’s a hot new street drug or maybe a man whore, but if it’s in code it must be illicit, and therefore an even better time. But apparently, neither one would come as much of a surprise to anybody, and I’m just not sure how to feel about that.