Her favored mount is... a hog?

I have always liked pigs. “Smarter than dogs,” they say. If allowed to roam and wallow, as sweet as pie. They also have teeth like a pulverizing mortar and pestle, as I would learn while on my way to procuring one of the highest and most honorable titles a kid could receive at Ashton Farms Summer Day Camp, "Pig Riding Champion". It would end up being an experience that I would never forget, or as far as my family was concerned, live down.

It was “summer games” day at Aston Farms, and of course as a rowdy tomboy, I was right in the middle of everything. I had grown very fond of all of the different animals there, and when they announced the pig riding competition I was in the very front row, watching with glee. The boys were all trying to mount the pigs as if they were horses, and then attempting to ride them for as long as they could before slipping to the ground covered in mud in most cases. It was entirely too much fun to just watch. I hopped the fence, ready to go down in hog equestrian history. I quickly jumped on the nearest pig as it was eating and locked my legs around it. It shot off like a bullet, squealing in agitation. I held on as it dashed around in circles, ran headlong into a fence, and then attempted to rub me off against a tree. I held fast, determined to stay on, but was tossed over the pig's head as it came to a sudden stop directly in front of the food bowls. I took a nose-dive into the mud pit, my leg landing directly into the pigs' dish. One of them clamped down onto my leg and I screamed in pain. The camp councilors scrambled over the fence, grabbing me under the arms to help me stand, and were surprised to see me laughing hysterically. "Winner!” one of them yelled as he lifted my arm in the air. I can't remember what I actually won other than bragging rights and a brutal ring-shaped bruise from the pig's teeth. Apparently I was the first girl to win in the 4 years that it had held! Intoxicated by victory, I tried the chicken catching contest, but promptly gave up when I saw the size of the rooster, or more specifically the size of the rooster's burrs. I would settle instead for a nice, scalding, well-deserved shower.

At some time during the following year, the VHS that someone had taken of the entire event would miraculously disappear, but only after I noticed that my father wanted to show it to absolutely anyone that would sit still for long enough. Even without the VHS, my father would retell the story for many years to come, especially as an icebreaker to any male friend that showed even the slightest interest in me. As I have gotten older, I have begun telling the story myself, and now I really wish that I had that VHS that vanished into the void so many years ago.