National Pig Day?

I've just discovered that I've missed National Pig Day. How did that happen?

It was March 1st. It's hard to believe I have let such an event slip by with neither rejoicing nor celebrating! Nor oinking.

When I was very little, I had a pet pig. My daddy owned a mama pig who had lots of babies, and I picked one of them out of the litter to be my own pet piggy. He was tiny, about the size of a package of Jimmy Dean's sausage! Nah, he was a little bigger, but honestly quite small. I was just about four years old at the time, and he was small enough that I could easily pick him up and carry him out of the pig pen and into the living room.

To my chagrin, my mother was not glad to have a sweet baby pig in her living room! She gave me a spanking and made me take him back to the pig pen every time she found him in the house. Ah, but he was so precious! I couldn't refrain from sneaking back to the pen and bringing him back into the house over and over again every day. He was so much fun to play with, and was an excellent friend.

My piggy was named Red, and that's what color he was: a brownish red. I can't find a picture of a pig the color of my Red, but just look at this face!

How sweet is this! As my friend Chris Whitfield would say, "As happy as a pig in mud!"

So, while searching for a picture of a red pig, I came across something called a Red River pig! Look at these! I was hooked the moment I laid eyes on these little darlings.











I've got to have one of these! I've never seen anything so lovely!


If I had one of these, I would name him Possum!

A Chicken After My Own Heart

On this beautiful St. Patrick's Day, the sun is shining and Spring is just around the corner, so it seems. I think about all the lovely sunny days ahead, and suddenly and without warning, I think about a chicken. That's right. Not just some random chicken, but a particular chicken with a singularly Irish personality; smart, handsome, and terribly testy.

My sister and I raised him from an orphaned egg.
The name we gave him was Chicken Little, and while he was yet very small, you couldn't have asked for a more agreeable little fellow. He was promptly baptised, showered with love, affection and attention, and treated like a member of the family. Chicken Little lived in a small cage on the living room coffee table, went with us on picnics, where he chased bugs and small snakes along the creekbank, and was just a marvelous companion. Even as an adolescent bird, he remained sweet and amenable to all playtime activities, like having doll clothes forced upon him and tiny bandanas tied around his pin-feathery head.

Chicken Little indeed! We should have named him George Meany. Upon reaching maturity, his personality took a foul turn! Man, that was one mean chicken! Of course, he had to be banned from the inside of our home, due to his lurking around corners and attacking like a chicken possessed. But putting him outside seemed to make matters worse. He hid just around the back of the house, and whenever one of us bare-legged humans ventured down the backporch steps, Chicken Little flew at us like a demon chicken, uttering the most terrifying pawks you can imagine, pecking and flogging without mercy.

Now, what would make a formerly benign chicken turn into a Jekyl & Hyde monster? Nobody knows.

So, my daddy traded him for two bunnies, a brown one and a gray one, dubbed Pierre and Twinkle Nose. They were promptly baptised, and NEVER attacked us.

I'll never forget Chicken Little. Both his personalities made lasting impressions, as did his "Top o' the mornin' to you!" greeting and his dagger-like beak.

High Time: Dig This

Yes, I believe it is high time to do some explaining about the picture of me. What I'm holding is a shovel. This picture was taken on my birthday, and the shovel was a birthday present from my daughter, India. If you look closely, you can see the aforementioned Gretchen the Snorticuss waiting patiently behind me. She perceives that some digging may be afoot, so to speak. In her case, it's afoot. In my case, it's ashovel.

As long as we're on the subject of shovels and feet, we may as well talk about Ireland. It has come to my attention that if you go to a well known website where we all go to avail ourselves of random information, you can see the question; Explain the expression "Digs with the other foot." The big surprise is, nobody has answered that question. Well, let me tell you, it has to do with the difference in the shovels used by Protestants and Catholics in Ireland. Historically, the Irish Catholics used shovels with long, straight handles with no horizontal grip at the top. If you try to dig with one of these, which I have often done, you'll find that to get a better dig, one must push the shovel with one's foot. And if you're right handed, the foot that seems most logical will be the left foot. However, the Protestants typically used a shorter handled shovel, with the horizontal grip at the top. Just look, my thoughtful and non-sectarian daughter has given me the perfect example, which I proudly display in the picture. With this shovel in hand, one is more likely to push with the right foot. It just works better that way.

I learned all this from Desmond Regan, a fine Irish Catholic fellow, when I was a youngun. Desmond was not only a fine fellow, but a Catholic priest as well. My daddy, Gordy, who was not a Catholic, nonetheless built the little brick Catholic church that stands across the street from the elementary school I attended. But that's a story for another day

Happy Digging!

A Jack Russell Terrier By Any Other Name

Looook, it's my dog! Don't you all wish you had a fearless Snorticuss like mine? Just where do Snorticusses come from? This one came out of the woods behind my house, and she said her name is Gretchen; but I know a fearless Snorticuss when I see one. So, you've never seen a green-eyed dog? Snorticusses always have green eyes. Don't they, Gretchen?

Well, I knew it was a Snorticuss, the first time that I saw it!

Another Day, Another Dollar

So here we are, 2009! The best thing so far is, we have a new Pres!
What else? It feels like a new lease on life.

Meanwhile, Gretchen the dog, has a new leash on life. She's at the vet, getting a bath!

I'm contemplating transforming myself into Buddy Holly. We'll see how it goes. Actually, I won't really transform myself into B.H., I just plan to sing a Buddy Holly song in public, with accomplices. More about that later.

Things to Watch For Here at The Painted Possum !

Soon I'll be posting examples of portraits and other artwork I have recently completed, poems, short stories and highly entertaining illogical thoughts, and, oh yes, snapshots of me and my musical group The Crazy Little Mamas performing a Buddy Holly song ... in public!