Ah, now here is a story that I can actually pin the naughtiness COMPLETELY on someone else.
Not many kids lived within my rural area, this valley of rolling hills and meandering creeks. Out of the eighteen houses (yes, only eighteen houses - the rest of the land was for farming or hunting grounds), seven of them were households with children. A grand estimate (I have a pet peeve about saying "guesstimate") of about twelve kids. A perfect number for the baseball games with several relief pitchers as we would slam into each other trying to catch the ball or whip a leg out at the runners to trip them before they could reach home plate. (Where were those lazy umpires?)
Anyhow, the problem with having so few kids living near each other was that you really could not pull off any prank on a neighbor and get away with it. There were always groups of kids who would get blamed for every prank even if they never committed it, and others who appeared as angels but too often their inner imps would come out to play.
It wasn’t me. I SWEAR!
In fact, my entire family was on an outing of dinner and a movie that day. The movie we watched was "The Shining" with the hotel owner going crazy and trying to kill off his family. My father didn’t have any problems taking us to see scary R-rated movies at our young age. Then we had stopped by King’s Family restaurant for a meal, which I believe had I ordered the spaghetti and chicken fingers. With stomachs full and our minds filled with the images of an insane ax-wielding felon, we came home and saw an amazing site.
The big mean boar was out of his pen as he stalked about the yard. He aimed his pig grunts and squeals at the swing-set as he circled it like a vulture stalking prey. On top, three kids straddled the metal bars as they clutched at bellies with full bladders while crying their eyes out.
"HELP! WE CAN’T GET DOWN!"
We would have laughed at the strange sight if our family wasn’t busy rolling up windows as the boar came charging at the car. A quick rock-paper-scissors game decided who would be the fool . . . er . . . brave soul who would make the wild dash to the barn with Pigzilla bearing down on them. I lost the bet, climbed out the car window onto the roof, slid down onto the hood, and ran my booty off for the pasture. With hooves pounding the turf like a thousand rhinos bearing down on fresh meat, the boar came after me. I managed to hide behind the tractor until he scrambled past, then dart out and slam the barn door close.
My parents went to the swing-set to help the kids down. Their explanation on how they got up there was that they had come over to our house to play. They found the escaped pig in the backyard and he chased them onto the swing-set. But there were several problems with their excuse.
How did the boar’s pen get unlocked?
How did the barn door get unlocked?
How did the electric fence get turned off with the pasture door swung wide?
My parents didn’t press the issue. They decided the kids had more than learned their lesson about messing around on other people’s properties. We also found out an amazing fact.
Who knew pigs could be such great guard dogs?