This article is a man's revenge on some defenseless pigs.

This story comes from the archives of Texas Monthly. We keep it as originally released without updates to maintain a clear historical record.

In a lifetime, one can only expect to win so many people. This may be where I started wrong.

The successful escape from Houston 25 years later was one of the victories. There are no more fourteen-hour peak hours. No longer do diesel tankers think they are Sidewinder missiles and should run my exhaust pipe on the highway.

I found a good job in Beaumont. I moved to a nearby acid lake. Dave Payne, the mayor of Sour Lake, cuts my hair (although he did raise the price to $4.50 when he got elected). My place is in the countryside. It is too small to be called a pasture; it is only a few acres. But sometimes I still call it a pasture.

I started to listen to crossover country; I even entered a little Hank Williams and a violinist. (His name is beyond my understanding at the moment.) Not bad for a city kid. I have a few dogs, cats, chickens and ducks.

(Get ready, because this is where I started to go wrong.)

Now, it is difficult to become a country with only chickens and ducks. I mean, you can’t strike up a conversation with someone at the Lone Star Cafe and honestly say, “Oh, yes, I have a ranch about 12 miles from Beaumont.” That’s because this person wants to ask The next question is "Sounds great, what did you raise there?"

As an honest countryman, you are obligated to answer, "Chicken and Duck." Then the conversation diminishes.

Well, I am not ready to raise cows and horses. Those things can step on you and so on. Roy Rogers (Roy Rogers) always has trouble stepping on cattle. But what about pigs?

They take up little space and are quiet. I have never heard of a pig stampede. They just lie down and eat. I read that they are clean and I know they won't spend a lot of money.

So I mentioned it to a few people in the office, two of whom thought it would be great if I raise a few pigs for them. And I think it’s great, because my pig will not be alone. The children thought it would be great, because of course they will have their own pigs.

I often reflect on how they arrived at this hypothesis, but it seemed natural at the time. Somehow, four pigs seem to be the correct number.

It was a Saturday morning in March, and I just finished writing. I nailed the last pig wire to my 24 x 30 foot fence, stuffed the whole family into the car, threw a burlap bag in the trunk (I had to find a pickup), and went to buy pigs.

I bought a little piglet. I try to act as if I know what I’m doing, but I’m pretty sure that this person sees through me, and asking the children to hug the piglet and make cooing sounds will not help.

But what is it, we will have a "working ranch" in a few minutes. The children put the piglet in her fence, we all leaned on the fence, and the little pig was wandering around sniffing things. This is the way it should be. The rancher leaned on the fence and looked at the livestock.

"Enough," I told the children. "We have more pigs to keep in captivity." I noticed that my wife was staring at the middle distance, her eyes were a bit sluggish.

We spent about an hour to buy three other pigs, and when we came back—you guessed it—the first piglet was gone, it was late in the afternoon.

How did she get out? We watched and watched, and finally saw that she was just writhing in the barbed wire. My wife shook her head now and walked towards the house. The children are upset. I asked the children to lock the pigs in one of the dog farms, and then I went to the logging farm to buy some small net-like barbed wire.

Merlin Breaux, the man who runs the logging plant in Acid Lake, is in real life an important corporate executive of a company I did not want to be named because I am sure it does not want to be associated with all this. Well, I got the barbed wire, and then Merlin came back with me. He didn't laugh at the pen completely, but he pointed out that in addition to the top and bottom boards, there should be a board in the middle. Otherwise, when they get bigger, the pig will just push away.

I'm not in the mood, Merlin. I have a lost pig. It's getting dark. I have to put up this barbed wire fence. Now you tell me that the fence I made is bad.

It is Sunday morning. I let my stalking dog out. One is a Doberman, and the other is a silly Labrador. When I pick up a fallen duck, it condescends to accompany me into the water. He felt that it was not appropriate to go alone.

But this morning they sniffed frantically. Soon, they caught up with the pig. I think this is why they are following, because I have seen pig tracks.

We walked about a mile and I was lost, but I came to this rather busy road with a wide and clean shoulder. The dog sniffed up and down in the ditch. I wanted to find a trace, but found a dead pig in the ditch. My dead pig. Was hit by a car. I didn't even lose step. I just keep going. The same is true for the magic dog. They have never even seen it.

Disgusting, I bought another piglet for another $25. We watched the four of them wandering around. One is always running, so we named her the trigger; the other we named Elaine after our friend. Of course, we must have a Porky, and the last one is Porkens.

There is only one management detail left to deal with. This is a way to charge feed fees from other investors.

It's simple enough. I will post a small newsletter. I will call it:

Our sheep seemed depressed and listless. The feed cost for the first week is $12.60, which is equivalent to 50 pounds of pork balls and 50 pounds of whole corn. Pigs don't seem to like Porky Pellets, but they really like Purina High Protein Dog Powder, which is more than twice as expensive. I suspect that if they are hungry, they will start to like pork balls. Dogs like them very much.

I believe that every investor can calculate their respective portion of the first week's bill and receive funds. Don't let this become another coffee fund!

Over the years, you may have heard conflicting stories about the relative cleanliness of pigs. Some people think that pigs are disgusting, disgusting little beasts, and don't care about their appearance at all. Others claim that pigs are clean and tidy animals that only become sloppy because of human abuse. Cleveland Amori ranked second.

After a whole week of observation, I can assure you that the pig is undoubtedly the dirtiest fallen man on earth with cloven hoofs. When they can completely eat the above, they absolutely like to stick their heads into a chute until their eyeballs. It's like a person trying to tie his hands behind his back, trying to push to the bottom of a bowl of pasta.

The feed bill for a week is $7.55, a 50-pound bag of Piggy Starter, they seem to like Porky Pellets better.

Don't be fooled by those who say that pigs are naturally neat; this is their true mission.

With the increase in production and the decline in retail sales, the prices of pork and pork belly have fallen

Wall Street Journal News Roundup

Live pig prices fell sharply and pork belly contracts fell sharply because there was evidence that there was enough pork around to meet cold consumer demand.

Bache Halsey Stuart Shields Inc. analyst John Kleist said: “In the face of relatively weak wholesale supply, pork production has increased substantially.” Many traders were encouraged by the news that 372,000 hogs were slaughtered yesterday, which was higher than recent levels despite Lent demand. Weak. *

Now, first of all, I don't think there is any reason for our emotions to take us away in this matter. The slight drop in prices is hardly worth mentioning. In addition, these analysts are known for panicking and believing any rumors. For example, look at the sentence near the end, saying that they received "message" that 372,000 pigs were slaughtered.

Reasonable people know that if 372,000 anything is slaughtered anywhere, the Sierra Club, Friends of the Earth, Save the Whales, Greenpeace and those who beat the seals will wailing, gnash their teeth and groan. But do we hear it?

One last point: I'm a bit worried about the rather arrogant attitude that some investors take towards paying for feed. This thing started to become very fast. All of our reserves are gone. I spent $15 on Piggy Starter and they have used up one bag. I think you all find this humorous, but the children have agreed not to eat milk until Dad pays all the feed costs.

*Reprinted with permission from The Wall Street Journal.

Naturally, to the frustration of the author, he failed to publish "The Chronicles of the Boar" last week without attracting attention at all. What can i say? The feed bill is $26.20, but we still have three bags of pork pellets left, but no investors are particularly concerned. Why do they want it? It's not that their children don't have the money for school lunches.

Until last weekend, these pigs seemed to have an unusual fear of water. I had a nice little troll for them, and they ignored it. They found it over the weekend. What I personally dislike is that they seem to have a great time. They walked to the middle, knelt on their little knees, twisted a little into the mud. If the mud is thin enough, they will stick their noses in and blow bubbles. All this seems quite soothing and pleasant. Then they slowly turned to the side, took a deep breath, and then slowly fell asleep as the mud slipped from their skins back into the mud.

This is a special announcement of action pig chronicles

Corpus Christi (Associated Press)-The 66th Southwest Conference Tennis Championships opened today at the HEB Tennis Center here. ..

Who are these people? Why do they catch pigs? This must be one of the most offensive headlines I have seen in my long pig career.

Now, I have never seen anyone trying to catch a pig. I can't imagine why they would do such a cruel thing, but obviously these people should not be favored, they should be condemned! In fact, it was prosecuted.

If this is some kind of university ceremony, on the one hand, I will not be amused. I don't plan to get up in the middle of the night to drive away a group of brotherhood pranks who are catching pigs outside. Can you imagine how it will scare those docile little animals? (Of course, I mean pigs, not college students.)

At the very least, if there is some kind of ground swelling of the pig net, it should be regulated. A committee should be established to limit the size of the net, the length of the handle, and the specifications of the net.

Don't wait for this. Write down your state legislator today.

Last time it was hurriedly published because of the Pozhu.com story, I neglected to try to collect feed bills. No one is worried, but the feed bill for the past two weeks is $39.30. The kids tell you that they think their shoes can be worn after school, but of course they really don’t need to wear shoes in summer. I'm sure it will be a relief for investors who are far behind the feed payment, they may have to apply for a lump sum grant to eliminate debt.

I want to focus on the call of pigs. As we all know, this is an indispensable part of the pig industry. Now, as soon as I got the piglet two months ago, I started to call it a pig. I started with a bit noisy "Woooo-sooiie-pig-pig-pig", which not only looked ridiculous on the printed page, but also let me check before doing it to make sure no one was watching. Since the pig was only twenty feet away, it seemed a bit ostentatious. So I started using a shorter, less embarrassing version. It is: "Here, pigs, pigs, pigs." I think this call is done in clear English. Although it is a bit redundant, it is much more complicated. Therefore, I shortened it to "Here, pig", which seems to be doing well.

I am willing to accept any suggestions you may make.

I must give a brief rebuttal to those of you who are trying to introduce college advocacy into the pig industry. Of course, it’s easy for some of you to call a pig, but not all of us have such a talent. I think I should borrow a plastic pig hat from an Arkansas razorback pig to make the pig more docile. It is recommended to be angry. In addition, I will not be fooled into believing that plastic pig hats are "a solemn and respected symbol of true pig lovers."

I have never seen a pig farmer wearing a red plastic pig hat (I actually prefer the term "pig farm"). I mean, I go to Sour Lake almost every weekend, and there is no instance of wearing a pig hat. Not even in the barbershop.

Last week's feed cost was 19.65 US dollars. If one of you is willing to pay, maybe I can buy pencils for the children’s last week of school.

It seemed that more came out of the pig than went in. I can't explain this, but everyone eats fifty pounds of food a week, but looking at the ground, you would think it is one hundred pounds. The weather is getting hot now, do you know the smell? More importantly, I have to spray twice a week to drive away flies. Do you know what it feels like to stand on tiptoe and walk over piles of things like this in a pen? None of you realize how big these pigs are. They weigh nearly 150 pounds. They bit your feet. This is real. I must kick them away. I had to close the door with a nail. They are pushing the door. This is ridiculous. A perfect door was nailed. I have to climb over the fence to get in and out. Let me tell you, the whole thing is out of control. They take root on one side of the fence. I have been cutting stakes and then smashed them to the ground with a sledgehammer. The pig eats the stake. I got into the new one. They left the next day.

The feed cost for the past two weeks was $13.10 per person. Trust me, it's not worth it.

I hope you can forgive my digression this week, but in the rush of daily life, we often overlook one area. We did not reflect on our ancestors and the great struggle they have gone through to make this country what it is now. Especially the enthusiastic country folks, I have developed a new and lasting appreciation for them. They work hard month after month, earning a living from the land. They don't have tractors. A horse is the mainstay. No wonder someone was hanged for stealing horses. Then there are some little things that you don't think of until you live in the country. Weeding, cutting wood, and picking up chickens. I never thought about mentioning chicken.

But I got some new chickens, chickens are very interesting. No, it's not funny-stupid. In the evening, the old chicken I had eaten for a while entered the chicken coop, jumped on the nesting platform, and jumped on the chicken coop. But these new chickens are not big enough to even raise the nest. Therefore, when the day began to darken, these chickens rolled on the ground and made a pitiful whine. This means I have to go out and pick them up every night. But do they appreciate it? of course not. They pecked at me and beat me with their wings. This is a terrible ordeal. So you ask, "Why don't you lower the habitat?" Because the chickens above (how to place this cleverly?) don't sleep at night, which makes the chickens below nervous.

However, the details are not important. The point is that we should respect those who came here before us and tame this land.

Due to the lack of development in pigs, I am considering a summer replay. However, my keen mind just figured it out. If I do this, I will not have the tools to issue invoices for members (no matter how much it is worth). Well, you buddies, each of you owes $24.55, which will get you through this week.

Now, for those who allow young children to read "Chronicles of the Boar", I suggest you take it away from them at this point. Now is the time to discuss one of the most offensive topics: the final demise of the pig. This is not as easy as it sounds. There are difficulties ahead. If you think there are a few pigs heavier than me, it is difficult to simply ship them to the meat packer.

I did go to the bookstore and picked up one of the "When bad times come, you can survive on the farm" book. I found a section about slaughtering pigs. You won't believe what they will let me do to these docile little animals. I just want to say that it involves a very long, very sharp knife. This is absolutely offensive. The people who wrote these books may survive on the farm in difficult times, but I certainly won't.

A member of the cooperative suggested that we let the pigs go hungry. I think this is a bit counterproductive. Another suggestion is to poison them. In that case, I worry about certain consequences upstream of the food chain. I am open to any other suggestions.

If you wish, please imagine the tranquil scene of green water in the mirror-like tranquility. Moonlight and stars reflected from the water. The weakest breeze slipped away from the southeast. The pond is surrounded by pine trees, oak trees, beech and hickory trees, and the air exudes their fragrance.

When people's eyes become accustomed to semi-darkness, images that were previously invisible begin to appear. One image began to attract attention-silver-white, large in size, protruding from the calm water.

The eyes moved upstream from the faint sway of the pine tree to the staring moon itself. Then his eyes returned to the silver thing.

This is their sink!

They have nudged their sink into the mud puddle they are now flooded, and then turned it upside down. I don't know what pests and plagues are between me and the sink. (I need to point out that this happened after they tore off the end of the feed trough and apparently ate it, because I couldn't find it anywhere, but it happened before I found out that they liked to eat their feed in the feed bag. )

When a person is involved in things that cannot be fully described, a sour and slightly coppery taste covers the mouth and can only be tolerated.

The sink is cleaned, rinsed and refilled.

The pigs are going next week.

First, look at the palms of these hands. The keys of the typewriter can hardly be hit with the fingers. As the rope burned, all the leather on the palms and fingers was gone. And all this started so naively. It is like this:

A friend called us a race horse for 5,500 dollars. free! Now, why would anyone give away a valuable racehorse? you are right. The horse lost—not just a little bit. It always loses.

so what. The children will have fun with him, he is free.

Now I bought a fence for a thousand yuan and made a part of the barn into a stall. After working until ten o’clock every night to set up the fence, I took a day off to pick up Douda (actually he registered it) and the name was Rodson. ——A pretty good residential area, isn't it? ——But I plan to call him Doo-da). Travel fast near NASA, load him into the carriage I rented, and bring him back. Get rid of him, load up the pig, and set off to where they do you know to the pig. I will finish by five o'clock, have a drink, have dinner leisurely, take care of it for the first time in a few weeks, and then sleep slowly on the sofa.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, I was still trying to make this stupid half-ton beast appear in the trailer. I was scarred; so was the horse. No wonder he lost all these games-when they took him to the track, the bastard was exhausted. He broke the rope from the thing hanging on his head. This is called lead, and it's like "You can lead a horse to the trailer, but you can't let him in."

Finally, with the joint efforts of six people, one who knew what he was doing, fifty feet of rope and a bullwhip, the horse was in the trailer. Then the person who knew what he was doing wanted to unload him and load him again. He must be crazy! I told him that the horse would never see the inside of the trailer anymore. But all these "horse people" told me, "Oh yes. You have to do it again so that the horse can learn." I almost got a dead horse in my hands, but I was in the horseman's hands. It collapsed in front of the great wisdom.

Therefore, we re-execute the load with almost the same result.

We came home to unload him, the children took him to the front yard to eat, and I was the relaxing part. Look, I didn't feed the pigs wisely all day. I'm going to pick up the feed buckets and bring them into the trailer.

They won't have it. Finally wrap rope around the neck and hind legs. Drag one, scream, to the trailer. Lift a 240-pound fighting pig into the trailer. After the other two saw what happened to the first one, they didn't want any part of it.

Exhausted, I panted and finally solved the last problem. (The girls are feeding the horses, making soothing noises, ignoring all this.) The pig is screaming, I'm screaming. I don't care about letting him into the trailer. I'm a little crazy, I want to beat the pig out. It only made him scream louder. That's good, that's good. Finally, my wife and boy dragged me off the pig, and I cursed the pig while screaming, trying to kick him when they pulled me away.

I think some hams may have bruises. I fell on the bed at eleven thirty. There is no dinner. The final feed bill is $19.65.

The Hog Chronicles had to end there because the lady who typed the newsletter told me that she didn't want to go into the bloody details.

The slaughterer said they were beautiful pigs. I think they should know because they returned me the sausage, ribs, ribs and ham.

What do my other pork investors and I do with three pig heads, I asked. (I think I need to explain here. The crazy pig named Trigger didn't go to the packaging factory because she was about 30 pounds lighter than the other pigs running around.)

The meat packer explained that I can use them to make pig's head cheese.

I quickly pointed out that I cannot let the children see these pig heads. I don't know how to make pig's head cheese. If I do this, I will not eat it, nor will anyone who has contacted me eat it.

Oh, that's too bad, they said. They would keep human heads and make them into cheese and sell them, and they would not even charge me for my kind behavior.

I bowed my head gratefully, thanked them, and disappeared into the room.

In the refrigerator at 86 cents per pound, I proudly told my wife.

She ignored the comment and asked me what to do with Trigger. I ignored her comments and pointed out that we are almost self-sufficient in vegetables, pork and eggs.

She asked me what to do with the trigger.

I subtly changed the subject, saying that some readers of "The Boar Chronicles" were very sad about the passing of the newsletter. I told her that I was considering making a newsletter about Douda. I call it Doo-da Reader.

She asked me what to do with Trigger.

Trapped. I deeply explained that Trigger and this horse get along very well, and it would be a shame to break this developing relationship.

She pointed out that a horse rarely has a pet pig.

She asked me what to do with Trigger.

David R. White is a writer, public relations director and pig farmer.

We cover important issues from politics to education. We are an indispensable authority in Texas, covering everything from music to cultural activities, and provide insightful advice.