Grieving when you're forced to shoot your pig

I had just dropped in "to have a cup of coffee, friend."

*******

"Yesterday I lost everything I owned on the stock market," my somewhat distraught evangelical preacher friend confided.

-- with a sad twinkle in his eye.

"What happened," I inquired.

"I had to shoot Curly, my pig."

We had talked his pig for many a month. Me with my Maltese doggy and he with his swine.

My friend lives alone in a small rural town.

He had only one pig to his name.

Now he has none.

Many was the time we joked about his pinning a sign "humans stay away" on his pig to protect him from humans bearing "swine flu."

Seems the pig had gotten himself a spell of acting out, pushing through the fence door.

Out through the front yard toward the road -- misbehaving a bit like so many humans do.

The prospect of a law suit from an angry motorist grieving over his totaled vehicle sealed that pig's fate.

So choosing between the duty of officiating over a wedding for which he had to leave immediately -- and coddling an errant pig, my buddy of the cloth rushed in for his .22 caliber rifle.

Shot his pig right between the eyes.


Now Curly's owner is in quiet grief.

We are still talking about when the services will be held and who will officiate.

My dog "Taz" is worried.

And behaving very well.