The pigs have gone off to the Processor for “processing”. When I was a kid it was off to the slaughterhouse to be “butchered”. The end result is the same. Whether “processed” or “butchered”, bacon, ham, chops, and sausage will soon be piled high on the table for our dining enjoyment. Wat, Spot, and Not were in good spirits when they left, and that’s important when it comes to taste.
The Sergeant Major told me I shouldn’t name them, but I couldn’t help it. I could distinguish between the three quite easily, but without names I would have had no way to tell her about them.
“One of the pigs doesn’t seem to be eating as well as the others,” I said.
“Which one?” she asked.
“You know, that one that I know is different from the other two, but since I can’t name him, I don’t know how to tell you who it is”
“Just describe the one you’re talking about!” she said, rather exasperated.
“Well…it’s a pig, and… it’s not eating as well as the other pigs.”
“Describe it, dammit!”
“OK! It’s not the red one with the wattles, it’s one of the other two. It’s black and white.”
“Which black and white!”
You get the drift. I know which black and white pig it is because I know how to distinguish between the two. They are both black with a white stripe which circles their bodies just behind their shoulders. On the back, inside the white stripe, one pig has a black spot, and the other pig does not. Spot, and Not. The red one I call Wat, because of the wattles. Wat, Spot, and Not. It’s quite easy really, but it has now become clear that I’m going to have to confess that I’ve named the pigs even though I had been “cautioned” not to.
Sidebar:
I use the term “cautioned” much like the Battalion Sergeant Major would use it when I was a Company Commander.
“Well, Captain, I understand. However, I would just ‘caution’ you that if you proceed with your proposed course of action, you are likely to endure some serious unintended consequences.”
If you are a young Captain, and if you have been paying attention to the world around you, you know that the next words out of your mouth must be, “Well Sergeant Major, what do you suggest?”
This is true because 1) There is a high likelihood that your plan has a major flaw in it that the Sergeant Major has recognized, but does not want to insult you by bluntly pointing it out, or 2) You have a brilliant plan that the Sergeant Major, for his own reasons, does not like, and if you proceed with it, he will do whatever it takes to ensure that there are “serious unintended consequences” which will not be traceable back to him.
End Sidebar
“OK, it’s Not. Spot’s eating fine, and Wat’s eating normal for him.”
Silence.
Then, shrugging her shoulders in resignation, she said, “You named the pigs. Do you not understand that these animals will be on our table someday? Do you not understand that Not, or whatever the heck you call him, is going to become our bacon?"
“Of course I understand that," I said excitedly. “But not just bacon. He’ll be ham and sausage too. At first I called them ‘Breakfast, ‘Lunch’, and ‘Dinner’, but that takes way too long to say. And anyway, you still wouldn’t know which was which because any of them could match any one of those names. I’m just trying to draw a distinction.”
She looked at me silently.
"I'll go look", she said.
She turned sharply towards the barn, muttering something under her breath.
"What did you say", I said.
"Nothing".
"No. You said something. What was it?" I insisted.
She turned back. "Little white packages. I said 'All I see is little white packages'. Dozens and dozens of little white packages".
So, as I said, they left in good spirits the other morning. The Sergeant Major is right as usual. They will return as little white packages. Little white packages full of nutrition and joy. What can be better than that?
