Giving a Piglet a Lift

I am a wild-eyed, crazy animal lover. The mere sight of an animal sends me into a tizzy and pigs—oh, don’t even get me started on pigs. Piglets, in particular, blow every circuit in my brain with their cuten

ess. It’s like sensory overload in the best possible way. 

One day, while visiting my Amish friends, I stumbled into the middle of a logistical dilemma. They were trying to figure out how to transport a piglet from Amish House A to Amish House B. 

“Oh! Oh! Pick Me! Pick Me!” I squealed, my voice hitting an octave only dogs can hear. 

The room went silent. One of the men, took a knowing glance at my husband’s shiny new Ford F-150, said, “Oh no, you wouldn’t want to put a pig in Wes’s new truck…” 

“Hogwash!” I muttered, delighted with my own joke. But in the back of my mind, my better judgment—an infrequent visitor—whispered, Don’t you dare put that dirty thing in his brand-new truck. He will butcher you! 

“Who wants to drive so I can hold the pig?” I chirped, ignoring reason altogether, and also laughing at my own wit. 

The young Amish boys, always eager to tease my husband, jumped at the chance to witness this unfolding miracle. They could barely contain their glee at the thought of “squealing” on me later. So, we all piled into the truck: me, the boys, and the star of the show, the piglet. 

The piglet squealed—loudly and without pause. Not your average barnyard squeal, but an ear-piercing shriek that reverberated through the cab like a poorly tuned opera. For five glorious miles, we laughed. And then it pooped. On the back seat. 

And just when we thought we couldn’t laugh harder, we were wrong. Tears streamed down our faces as we tried, and failed, to compose ourselves. 

Later that afternoon, Wes noticed his truck wasn’t parked where he’d left it. His suspicious eyes locked on me. 

“Where’d you take the truck?” he asked. 

“Oh, I just gave a piglet a lift!” I replied, beaming with pride. 

“YOU WHAT?” he exclaimed, his face a perfect blend of horror and disbelief. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” I said, attempting to soothe his fears. “It only pooped once, and I cleaned it up real nice!” 

He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head, muttering something about never leaving me alone with his truck again.