Kathy Bassett's column, "The View from Maybell," appears in the Saturday Morning Press.
I was having a hard time coming up with something to write about for this week’s column, and then while browsing through the community section of the newspaper, I came across the perfect story idea.
Yeppers, this is what I found from a fella who posts online to different news articles with various names.
This is what he had to write about:
“I once had a pet toad named Curly — and believe it or not — he used to ride on the back of one of my pigs whose name was Spud. Now I had a wart hog! I shot the hog (he was always trespassing), and when we fried the bacon, there were these little green bumps on the bacon.
“We ate the bacon anyway — yum! I also must tell you that I invented curly fries. I deep fat fried Spud’s tail and that’s how curly fries got their name.”
(I corrected the misspelled words, because I don’t want folks to think I can’t spell.)
Actually, I’ve never had a pet toad. Might be fun, though. I had a frog, though. Does that count? I have had coyotes, raccoons and a pet deer. The girls had a pet turtle and fiddler crab. Of course, we didn’t eat the coyote, raccoon, deer, turtle or crab.
But I do know people in Brown’s Park who have eaten Porcupine, bears, mountain lions and other critters. I’ll pass on those. They say the meat tastes good, and I’ll just believe them.
Oh yeah, we did have a pet pig, but his name was Pig. (We had such original names for our animals; the dog’s name was Dog, and the cat’s name was Cat. We called the turtle, Turtle, and the crab was named Crabby.)
I didn’t intend for Pig to be a pet. He was supposed to end up as hams and bacons and such, but every time I took the buttermilk out to feed him, he would jump up, put his front feet on the top of the fence (which kept him from trespassing) and lay his chin down. Then he would look at me with his big eyes and say, “Oink?”
Maybe I should rephrase that. He would grunt out the word “Oink!” He was just too cute. I never got to be the one who shot him. We hauled him in to the packing house, and they took care of all that kind of business. He went in as a happy porker and came out all wrapped in white paper, ready for the freezer.
When we cooked him up and ate him, we never once found any little green bumps on the bacon. Yuck. I wouldn’t have eaten that.
On the other hand, maybe it goes well with Dr. Seuss’s green eggs. There was quite a spell when I was younger that I wouldn’t even eat pig meat because I saw a hog rooting through a huge fresh pile of cow manure, and it just didn’t settle well somewhere down in my innards. Then, someone told me the pig was just picking the corn out. But I wasn’t about to let anything that yucky go visit my tummy.
Then, take the milk cows. Seeing as how we had several milk cows, we couldn’t name them all Cow, so we had Daisy, Brownie, Meany and on down the line. We had one big old Guernsey cow that loved to find a hole in the fence and sneak on down the road to go visiting other neighborhood ranches. The people would call and I’d take the kids for a walk to go get her. Then all three girls would crawl up on her and ride her back home. She was great entertainment for kids.
We only had one cow that was really ornery. She hated to be milked and would do just about anything to keep from being milked. I always had to stick her in the squeeze chute to milk her otherwise she was gonna kick you clean to the moon.
I don’t know why, when one lives on a ranch, no matter what kind of animal we would get to raise for food, I always had to go and make pets out of them.
And then try really hard not to think about eating them. And I mustn’t take credit for inventing curly fries. That wasn’t me. I wonder now if we could invite this forum poster to become a newspaper columnist.
He has such a vivid imagination.