I Was a Hog Rancher — for a Couple of Days

When I’d come in from the Knight Ranch every month or so I used to go to my sister’s place for a bath. It was nice to just lean my socks in a corner and relax in the tub for a while. Sometimes I almost felt like I’d like to bathe every week; but, too much luxury can get you in trouble.

On one of my trips there, my brother-in-law (whom we will call Golden Glow to protect the innocent) suggested that we go into the hog business together. I was interested. There was a little filly in a neighboring town that took my fancy. I could acquire her for $18 (that’s $6 for the license and $12 for the ring) provided I could find a place to keep her. So I married her and we moved out to Golden’s farm.

My first assignment was to get an old sow out from under a straw stack. She had tunneled back in there and had had a litter of pigs. Golden couldn’t get her to come out, so I was to crawl back in and get her — big deal. I must have crawled back in her cave about 15 feet when I put my hand on one of her piglets who promptly sent out a plea for help. She stood up and snarled “Augh, augh, augh” in a rude voice, to which I replied “Ooh, ooh, ooh” as we rubbed noses. We didn’t rub noses for too long — no longer than it took me to turn my 6’1″ frame around in her 18 x 18-inch tunnel; then I left and she followed. When we got out into the sunlight I got a good look at her. She looked like a cross between a Greyhound and an Arkansas razorback. She had been away from home for about ten days and probably hadn’t eaten much, if anything, in that time. But she looked like she planned on eating any minute now, so I shifted into high. The corner of my brain that wasn’t busy longing for home reminded me that I still had her squealing piglet in my hand and that if I dropped it she would probably quit chasing me. But I was using too much energy putting one foot in front of the other that I didn’t have enough strength left to uncrook my fingers.

The barbed wire fences didn’t slow either one of us down; I’d hurdle them and she’d go under. I headed for the house, planning on going in and slamming the door, but my wife, who was standing on the porch watching, decided she didn’t want a pig and an idiot on her clean floors. She went in and shut us both out. I didn’t figure she had bolted the door, but my time schedule was too tight to allow for any knob-turning, so I ricocheted off the house and headed for the pig corral. Golden was there, politely holding the gate open (he always was a perfect gentleman). I went inside and she followed; he slammed the gate shut and I jumped up on the barn, which isn’t too much to brag about since it was only about nine feet high, but you must remember that I still has the little pig in my hand — who was, incidentally, unharmed aside from being a little air-sick.

My brother-in-law was lavish in his praise. Never has he seen a hog corralled so quickly. He suggested that we go back up to the straw stack and get the rest of the piglets, but I was disinclined to return so he and my wife went up and brought them home in a tub.

The next day we went over to Soso Kosaka’s place to buy some more weanlings. It took Soso and Golden quite a while to agree on a price since Soso’s English was limited and Golden’s Japanese was nil. But I had attended rural school where 11 of the 15 kids enrolled were Japanese and I had picked up a few words. By listening carefully I was able to determine that Golden wouldn’t pay any more than $6 apiece, while Soso was holding out for $4, so when I held up five fingers they both nodded happily and the deal was consummated.

Golden drove the wagon into the pig yard and Soso scattered some grain and shouted something in Japanese which must have meant “Sooey, sooey” for about 18 sows and 180 weanlings appeared out of everywhere and started eating. They gave me a sawed-off shovel handle and instructed me to keep the sows back while they loaded 30 weanlings. I made a fantastic discovery. If a sow was Babe-Ruthed halfway between the end of the snout and the eyeballs she immediately lost all interest in pignappers. By and by the two men noticed that they weren’t having to dodge sows anymore and they took time to look behind them. Seventeen sows were tranquilized and I was hot on the trail of the last one. They seemed rather startled. Soso said a few phrases that I hadn’t learned in school; Golden, being a Mormon bishop, was much more restricted in his speech, confirming his remarks to My goodness, merciful heavens, oh shaw, and a couple of words that slipped out which I won’t mention since it might get him in trouble with church authorities.

A genius born years before his time! In fact, my “Instant Hog Tranquilizer” has not been fully accepted by the Hog Growers’ Association even today!

That night, by mutual consent, we dissolved partnership. Golden felt I would be much happier back on a horse ranch. I heartily agreed. I was looking forward with pleasure to the peace and safety of breaking horses. This hog ranching was too rough for me!

This article was originally published in the January 1970 issue of Western Horseman.

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