Picking on Pigs Has Gone Far Enough

If you ask me, pigs get picked on too much. “Let’s have a Pig Pickin’,” people say when they’re hungry and want to congregate with other people in a social setting. After a pig is picked out, he is laid out for everyone to pick through and pick over. And somebody stuffs an apple in his mouth to humiliate and pick on the poor fella even more. When it’s done he’s been picked to pieces. Other people sell Boston Butts when they want to raise money. And the poor pig is usually the victim in that instance as well. Despite the Butt, the meat doesn’t come from his hind quarters. Says the pig, “If I’m sacrificing my future in this deal, at least get your facts straight.” No respect. We pick on pigs when we utter ridiculous statements like, “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” True enough, but why not substitute a donkey’s ear or some other barnyard animal. Nope, it’s almost always the pig bearing the brunt of the insults. Humans get mad at other humans sometimes when they think they’re being lied to and they holler out, “Hogwash!” or “Baloney!” Poor pig. It’s bad enough he’s sacrificed for bacon, sausage, ham, etc.- now he’s a replacement curse word as well. Insensitive humans describe other humans they deem as obese or lazy using words that involve hogs while other moronic types refer to our fine officers of the law as pigs, and it’s not a compliment. Pork is a bad word in politics that keeps representatives from getting reelected (or at least it should) and people who take up too much of the street when driving are called Road Hogs. The poor pig has a dreaded disease named after him. Swine flu made a comeback a few years ago and everybody had to get shots again like they did in the 70s. Kids who don’t keep their rooms picked up hear things from their mother like, “You’re worse than a pig” or the dreaded, “This place is a pig sty.” I never knew growing up what a sty was but I suspected it was untidy. I encountered a pig recently at a local high school football game. While heading to my parked car after the game, I glanced to my left and a few feet from a containment fence, amongst several goats, lay an enormous pig. “She’s pregnant,” said one of the teens in our group who attends the school. I stopped and stared at the Mom-to-be and for a few brief moments, our eyes met. And for the first time in my life, I truly felt sorry for a pig. It was bad enough that a pregnant pig mom had to endure the loud and obnoxious sounds of the crowd cheering, the band playing, and the lights glaring- but now most every human exiting the premises would be passing by and hurling an insult or two her direction. “It could be worse,” said one of the baby goats as I stared, “She could be one of us.” Knowing the chap had a valid point considering what we call people who end up on the opposite end of the heroes in games, I whispered to the goat, “Hang in there, kid.”