Page 84 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“I’ll stop once you agree.”

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After a few more terse words emitted from Angie’s mouth, she took her shirt and yanked it on while she marched to the mud pit. I did an over-the-top fist pump, sending the town into another round of cheers.

Maddie took off to the pens at a run while Angie and I made it to the edge. The circular structure had no gate. By the time I’d figured that out, Angie had gotten in quicker than a whip. I followed, landing in mud well above my ankles.

The black and white spotted pig about the size of the bacon bits faced us on the opposite side of the pen. I’d grown attached to the tiny monsters capable of ingesting my bones and instantly pitied the creature.

In the background, a horn blared, and the crowd shouted with it.

Sorry little guy. I promise this is for your own good.I dove for the pig. Angie must have had the same idea. We collided mid-air and slid into the mess. I fell backward while her entire body disappeared under the surface.

The pig scampered to the other side of the pen as Angie came up, gasping for air. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.

“Ugh.” She wiped at her forearms, flicking her fingertips toward the cesspool. Mud splattered in tiny specks around her. Slop glopped from the previously white shirt now bunched at her midsection, exposing her navy-blue swimming suit.

I stood and laughed. “Well, you can’t get any dirtier now.”

“Are you just going to stand there laughing at me, or are you going to help me catch this pig?” Angie pointed to our black-and-white, spotted prey quivering in the corner.

The pig followed us with its eyes. It remained where it stood, its belly brushing the surface of the mud pit as if waiting for us to make a move first, ready to bolt at any moment.

“You come around that way and force the piglet to me. Don’t let it circle around you.”

I straightened and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She bent her knees and widened her stance, preparing to catch the pig as I shoved it her way.

Following her precise instructions, I waved my arms and hollered at the pig. It pivoted in a quick circle looking for a window of escape. I did my best to hop in front of its face and force it in the direction I wanted it to go. It darted past Angie, and she dove for it, missing it by mere inches. It bolted toward me. I laid out my entire six-foot-three-inch body, belly-flopping face first.

The cool, oversaturated dirt contrasted with the heat I’d been subjected to all day. How much of this was mud, and how much of it was feces? Surely the pig peed and pooped with how many times he’d been scared today. Still, it felt like a spa day. Some people, my mother included, spent a fortune soaking in mud baths like this one.

Honestly, they should charge extra for adding in the natural element of pig urine and pig feces. I wrinkled my nose and gagged. Since being on the farm, I could decisively say, pig manure was by far the most stinky.

Once again, Angie and I regained our feet. I glanced at the clock, and we only had two minutes remaining to catch the pig before someone else would take our place. It was now or never.

Forgetting all strategy, I charged the animal. It squealed and bolted in the opposite direction. I predicted its movements, and as it ran past Angie, dodging her attempt to grab it, I jumped on it and wrapped my arms around its middle.

The stewed mixture splattered into my mouth, and I did my best to spit out what I could, but I swallowed the rest, not relinquishing my hold on the pig.

The poor animal bucked and kicked against my chest, screaming as if I was about to strangle it.

“Help me!” Its snout hit my jaw. “He’s getting away from me.”

Angie came to my side and contained the squirming animal’s front legs. She jerked it toward the barrel, but I shook my head.

“This way.” I tipped my chin toward the nearest fence. “Trust me.”

Awkwardly, we made our way to the edge. The feisty little pig almost caused us to drop him twice. The mud, combined with his slick hair, made him harder to hold than a than a potato covered in KY jelly.

I led the way, leaning over the top of the panel. Angie followed suit. The crowd’s murmur grew louder as I met Angie’s eyes and, with a nod, released the pig. The animal’s hind legs hit the ground before Angie completely relinquished her hold. It kicked free of her slackened grip and sprinted toward the other caged and wailing pigs.

I gripped the brown panels and jumped over the top. My sandaled feet hit the ground at a run. Covered from head to toe in mud, I channeled my best imitation of Mel Gibson and lifted my arm and yelled, “FREEEEDOMMM!”

With her lips set in a firm line of determination, Maddie scampered to the other five gates and threw them open. The remaining pigs joined my squealing friend, forming a mass which moved together as one.

Chaos erupted. People poured from the stands, chasing the wayward pigs, while the mayor garbled words into the loudspeaker. I came to a stop by Maddie.

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