Because nothing is going on right now (on the bright side, nothing is quiet, right?) I thought I'd introduce you to our doctor. Although he appears completely incapable of telling us when to expect the twins, he is hilarious. We go in for our weekly checkup and feel like we’re getting good, solid information on the twins and a quick standup act. It could only be improved if they served drinks (or Percoset) during his set.
Several weeks ago, a family friend called him and asked if he would be willing to serve as a foster family for a piglet. This request apparently translated as “How would you like 50 pounds of bacon?” The piglet moved in and, to welcome her, our doctor built a pen in his garage, bought a new grill, and found a few good recipes on epicurious.com. Then he made a fatal mistake. He named the piglet Maggie.
Our doctor kept repeating “I just keep hoping that she’ll turn out to be mean. Then I won’t feel so bad.” But Maggie has proven to have an uncanny sense of self-preservation. She oinks in an appropriately endearing sort of a way. She rams the pen wall when he doesn’t stop to scratch her on his way inside. I think she makes him feel validated.
A few days ago, he constructed a new and improved pen in his back yard. I’m not sure what new and improved translates to when it comes to pig pens, but I get the sense that it’s a pretty posh pen. Later that night, he heard her “oinking like mad” and rushed outside. He tried to make it seem like he was checking on his investment but I’m pretty sure he was tearing up in the examining room. The reason for the mad oinking was undetermined, but I think it may have been swine separation anxiety.
His son is apparently much more savvy. When our doctor asked his son if he wanted to bond with the pig, his son apparently looked at him with 9 year old incredulousness and said “Dad. I’m not going to bond with our food.”
We were all quiet for a moment, thinking about Maggie the pig, and then I asked if he had ever seen Babe. His exact words were “thanks for that.” He asked me a philosophical question … “Why does bacon have to be so intelligent? It makes me wonder what people would taste like.” In unison, he and I immediately shouted “SOYLENT GREEN IS MADE OF PEEEPLE” in our best Charlton Heston. Amy shouted “GET THESE BABIES OUT OF HERE” in her best 39 week pregnant woman.
Amy finished the conversation by predicting, “There’s no way you’re eating that pig.” He laughed and nodded and then, in an embarrassed, I wish I hadn’t named that damn pig kind of a way, said, “I know. I’m about to have a 300 pound pet.”
