Remembering Dad

The Legend of the Flying Pig

 

It’s an old story, tried and true,

One that will certainly pull you out of the blue.

One that deserves retellin’ I tell ya;

‘Course no one could do it like Sonny, oh yeah.

 

On a warm, autumn day in mid-September

The legend was born, a story to remember.

It was time for the fair to come to the county

All vying for ribbons and farmers to sell their bounty.

 

Young Sonny was summoned, and he didn’t dare linger.

Take the pig to the fair, his Dad shook his finger,

And don’t you be racin’ I’m giving you my Chevy

Don’t be doin’ no funny stuff for that truck is too heavy.

 

Then into the bed they loaded the pig,

Rosy pink and nearly 700 lbs. big;

With a perfectly curled tail and perky little ears,

And bright eyes and snout, he rose effortlessly above his peers.

 

The truck it was waitin’ and Sonny slid inside.

Hold on little piggy, you’re goin’ for a ride!

Surely a pig that size would stay in place;

It was only 6 miles, and Sonny’d hold his pace.

 

But County E lay ahead and to be a racer his fate,

He kept it tight in the corners; like a bullet on the straight.

His Dad’s old Chevy Sonny pushed hard to its limit;

No fear had he, it was pedal to the metal and give it!

 

Richert’s bridge loomed in the distance.

He was sure he could do it if only by the seat of his pants.

Sonny knew if he hit the rise in the road just right

He could jump that bridge without a fight.

 

He gunned the motor and with a mighty lurch;

If this didn’t go right, he’d be needin’ a church.

The quarterpanels flapped and the tires spun free

YeeHah, Sonny whooped with unfettered glee.

 

That old truck flew with the grace of a bird

On nothing but guts and glory it was spurred.

Then the tires kissed the pavement with one little bounce

And ah, sweet success, he hadn’t worried an ounce.

 

To let off some steam he turned up the radio

And sang ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky’ with Bill Monroe.

It was a good day, a great day indeed,

For he’d fulfilled his thirsty need for speed.

 

He pulled into Steigers to pump some gas,

Whistling as he filled the tank with a splash.

And then it hit, like a nasty slap in the face,

Something was horribly, horribly out of place.

 

It started with a cold sweat that beaded on his brow

And a twist of his innerds, I’ve got me some trouble now.

He replaced the hose, as his hands began to shake

Oh Lordy, his belly really started to ache.

 

The pig, it was gone and his Dad was going to kill him!

He tore out of the station, panic rushing every limb

And raced back to the site with a fear so big

His undoing lay on the fate of a pig.

 

By the side of the creek that pink lump did lay.

“A bit skun up,” Sonny would later say.

But one tough ham as he’d always recall,

That big old pig could really take a fall.

 

The story lay fallow for quite some time.

It was years before his Dad knew the nature of Sonny’s crime.

And why his favorite hog failed to earn that year

The top dollar it would bring in, he was so sure.

 

As the years rolled on, Sonny retold the story

Of the poor pig so wrongly robbed of his glory.

He’d tell it with a chuckle and a slap of the knee

While all of us around him laughed so heartily.

 

Now the legend lives on and the townspeople say

The pig still haunts that bridge to this day.

So I warn you truly, when you’re out on County E;

You just might see a flash of pink as you cross, wait and see.

 

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