Green Acres

So, as many of you know, Bubba surprised me with an early Valentine's Day gift for the household a couple of weeks ago, in the form of Orville, our new pot-bellied pig. Now that I've got almost 2 weeks with him under my belt, and since it's Valentine's Day and all, I can finally commence with my "review," of said pig.

The first few days, it was hard to get beyond the at least hourly realization I would say to myself, "there's a pig in my kitchen." Not angrily. Not excitedly. Not euphorically. Just perplexedly matter of factly, "there's a pig in my kitchen." At 2 months old, fresh from being taken from his mother and thrust onto an airplane into the kitchen of perfect strangers, Orville was not surprisingly, a tad skittish at first. He was reluctant to even come out of his carrier, but then we learned the key to all things pigs: Food. Food is the magic elixir. The fix-all. For you see, food is Orville's raison d'etre. And he who controls the food, controls the pig. It's that simple.

We've all heard about someone or another "eating like a pig." I've come to decide that that is a misnomer. I have to tell you, watching an actual pig eat is actually fascinating, not disgusting. Bubba and I have had many a discussion over the years about the essence and nature of greatness. In athletes, artists, or any other readily observable arena, I think most everyone likes to see greatness in action. Unbridled passion and true mastery of a subject. My boy Z, the biggest Knicks fan around, he could even appreciate the greatness of watching Michael Jordan in motion, even as he was ending yet another Knicks' season. I make this comparison because we now have a true artist in our midst.

Orville, is a virtuoso eater. He will eat ANYTHING, and eat it all with a fiery passion. And the best part is, he doesn't seem to take a breath. He's like the horn player Rahsaan Roland Kirk (SECOND reference in a month). Kirk used to play three horns at a time, and could hold a note literally, for as long as he wanted via a technique called circular breathing http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circular_breathing (Kenny G does it too, but that phrase was the first and last time I'll mention him in this blog ever). Once a "session" begins, his mouth fires like a Pac-Man until the food is gone and he goes like 3 straight, extra minutes of chewing air without any results that he'll finally stop. Like a Hoover vaccum cleaner, he won't stop until the dish/floor/carpet is spotless. I guess, at his size, he's more of a Dustbuster than a full-on vaccum, but you get the idea.

Naively, I thought when I started typing this that I'd casually some up having a pig in my house, and move on to the next topic. Clearly, this is going to be an extended work in progress like my friend Elise's journal on the wonders of motherhood http://byeliseabramsmiller.blogspot.com/. But I would be remiss if I failed to mention in my initial bovine recount, the phone call I had with my man Boston Jay on the topic last Friday. Jay's one of my boys from back in the day, and my unofficial "Partner in Swine." He and I both have, shall we say, a "penchant" for bacon, sausage, and all of the other wonderful products that come from this remarkable animal. So when he unassumingly called me last Friday to shoot the breeze, I told him to check his e-mail, so he could take in this latest development in my life. He opened the picture I sent him, and set off on an "Orville-esque," 5 minute uninterrupted laughing jag. The comedic ramifications of this scenario exploded out of his head, one after the other. The irony of this newly formed odd couple was/is truly "delicious" as it were. That this culinary delight was now my "kin folk" as he put it.

By Saturday, he'd caught his breath. That is, until I called him from the cell to tell him I was out taking the pig for a walk. On Sunday, his abs aching like he'd done 1000 sit-ups over the weekend, I decided to bust his "chops" one last time for good measure. I called him to tell him that lil' Orville was literally, camped out by the fire we had going in the fireplace, just BEGGING for me to go over there and honey-glaze him. Boston Jay is slated to come out here some time this spring. We told him he's welcome to stay with us provided he's not holding a fork and knife when we pick him up at the airport.

Truth be told, Orville's presence has had an impact on my pork psyche. To expect me to drop cold turkey is fool-hardy. BUT, I have kind of stopped eating it in the house. This is a problem as my sister had gotten me this like, 4 pack sampler of gourmet bacon for Christmas. And when I've gotten my breakfast fare the last 2 weeks, I do at least stop to consider what's happening (before I inevitably eat it), making me think that it's conceivable at least, that a gradual phase-out could happen. We'll see if that comes to pass, but Orville is certainly safe.