My grandparents lived on a dead-end partially gravel road in Monticello, nestled deep in the heart of Lawrence County. It was in this one-horse yet peaceful town that I spent a large portion of my life, especially during the summer months.
My grandparents came from a long line of simple country folk. My ancestors were what you would consider “dirt poor,” living off the land and making ends meet with what they had. Although they did not have much in the bank, their account of life was full. If happiness and a healthy work ethic could be considered a sign of wealth, my ancestors were rich in that department.
Having said that, I was raised around farm animals. I was no expert in tending to them. But thanks to my family’s history and the surrounding homesteads of my Maw Maw and Paw Paw’s neighbors, there was always an animal around me. From pet family dogs to a field full of cows to chickens roaming the neighborhood, I learned my place among the country animals.
But that relationship wasn’t always so smooth.
I can vividly remember being about seven years old when our next door neighbor’s rooster wandered over to our property. It was a hot and steamy afternoon when I went outside to take a turn on a tire swing that Paw Paw had put up for me in the yard. And that beast of a rooster was the only thing between me and that tire swing.
At first, I thought he would find his way over to the other side of the yard. I even began to kick a little dirt in the hopes that he would take off and leave me to my tire swing...big mistake.
That rooster chased me around the entire back yard, attacking me with his spurs on my bare legs. He ripped me up pretty good, and the entire neighborhood could hear my cries of anguish as I thought my life was going to come to an end thanks to the vicious rooster.
I ran so far and made the mistake of looking behind me at the fighting rooster making his mark on my legs, which were already streaming with blood and marked up with scratches. Not paying attention, I ran right into a fence lined with barbed wire. With my clothes caught on that wire, that demon rooster continued to attack me as I bellowed for the good Lord to come down from Heaven.
Seconds later, Maw Maw emerged as if out of nowhere and belted that rooster a few good times with a broom. Sensing he was licked, he strutted back over to the neighbor’s yard as Maw Maw untangled me from the fence. It was the most pitiful sight you could have ever seen. With blood running down my legs and tears pouring out of my eyes, I made my way inside to the kitchen where Maw Maw cleaned me up. My pride was hurt, and my tiny body was beat. To this day, I stay clear of roosters and don’t feel bad whenever I eat a piece of fried chicken.
It would be nearly 30 years later when an animal licked me that good again. Unfortunate for me, it was just a couple of years ago.
The Pattersons headed to Jackson that year for our daughter Elsie to show a pig in a livestock show. The night before the show, we joined a number of local 4-H families to wash and prepare the pigs for the show the next day. The process began smooth, but it would end with me licked by an animal again.
A pig was on the loose, and I was instructed to block the pig off. Using a board, I attempted to do so, confident that a simple-minded pig would not get the best of me.
The pig did get the best of me.
When a massive pig is charging you, it is probably in your best interest to understand that your 40-something-year-old body is not made how it use to be 20 years ago. I attempted to block the crazy pig only to be knocked completely on my face, headfirst into the ground.
And as I rolled over and shook the dust off my face, I looked towards the roof of the barn towards Heaven, just as I did that day with the rooster.
“Lord, don’t let me be taken out by a pig,” I thought to myself. “This isn’t the way I want my children to see me go.”
Although my body was beat, my pride was still strong. I shot up with every ounce of strength I had halfway blocked the pig until somebody who actually knew what they were doing came over.
I laughed about it with our friends, dusted my pants off and walked it off. I took a few jokes, even made a few at my expense.
But when my husband Jason and I got to the hotel room that night, I let out a holler that sounded like feeding time at a zoo. Easing into the chair, I raised my pant leg only to find my knee about the size of an apple and a number of bruises already forming on the right side of my body.
“Well, at least I kind of stopped the pig,” I ached as I popped some medicine to deal with the swelling.
“Yeah, but you had to throw your whole body in front of it,” Jason said, with a laugh.
“You don’t realize how big those suckers are until one takes you out,” I muttered, as I attempted to put on my pajamas.
I was fine the next day, but I think my pride was the only thing keeping me in line. A few jokes were still made, but I took them. I deserved them. What business does a 40-year-old have chasing a pig? I was clearly out of my element.
Overall, the experience was perfect. Elsie had the time of her life, and our time spent with friends was so enjoyable.
But I know when I am beat. Sit this one down. My head may have told me I was young, but my body reminded me that I’m well past my prime..
