so, I presented my self to our two man police force.
Well, of course they had licenses
for the this of that or the that of this
but alas no license
for the moving of a pig.
They had somehow run out.
The licenses not the pigs.
So, they gave me a license for a crane
& crossed out the bit not pertaining to a pig.
I thought they might ask me
how many wheels on your pig or
what type of machinery is your pig?
But when it was done it was done
a kind of Frankenstein form
half crane/half pig.
And I was free now to move my pig
where so ever I wished.
And so I brought her to the boar.
And then there was the time there was a pig born
without an *******
( not an uncommon occurrence they told me ).
And so I set off for the vets on my motorcycle and sidecar
. . .another story.
The funny thing was she told the stories so nonchalantly as if they were the most ordinary thing going...as if everyone had a pig or two up their sleeve with or without an *******. And that sidecar with a pig in it. I told her she would have to write these stories out or I'd have to steal 'em. So I stole 'em! I couldn't leave stories like that on the shelf. She was Jan's school friend and they hadn't met for over 40 years and when they got together it was as if no time had passed and they chatted away like schoolgirls.
The sad thing was that both pigs died...one by the shock of being "serviced" in that *** came as a bit of shock and the other little pig from the attempt to give it an *******. When I imagine the little pig zooming around a corner in the sidecar I always see it wearing goggles. Don't think I have ever been told such a deadpan amazing story as this.