Real life stories are too interesting to have been made up. Holidays are often punctuated with a phone call to my veterinarian brother-in-law with some cow down or a dying goat. This Fourth of July, he and my mother-in-law had treated us all to expertly grilled ribs. After, we sat around and we listened to his story of some pigs he had had to catch and vaccinate.
The cosmos was set in motion and the phone rang - one of the same pigs had a prolasped rectum. We all moaned in sympathy with him (and disgust at the mental image). It seems the pig had had pnuemonia earlier in the week and had coughed himself inside out. Several relatives were interested enough to don boots and accompany him on the call.
Those of us remaining took in small town America, spreading blankets near a gazebo festooned with patriotic half-moon banners. We watched the clock nervously looking over our shoulders at an approaching storm. Lightening began competing with some renegade fireworks, but the real show was not scheduled to go off for another half hour. Just as we decided to go to the car, the fireworks started early. We stayed, until we felt rain and heard the screaming. People running - and screaming.
It began to downpour, and hundreds of people ran down the street, pelted by hail. A man fell down, laughing at himself. Parked nearby, we made it to the car just in time, but not before my sister-in-law got a black eye from a piece of hail. The fireworks continued to go off, observed from the car through the hail and rain. We were no longer hot, given that we were soaked.
Back at home, we heard more about the pig, and how to fix a prolapsed rectum. I had recently had a foster kitten with this problem, so my interest in the procedure is not as bizarre as it might seem. Personally, I think some bacon making was in order.
