There's nothin' like a pig show
Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Julie Carter

If you have never been to a pig show, you have completely missed the very essence, so to speak, of a small county fair.

The kids are dressed up as nice as they can be to show a pig, usually in at least a brightly-colored shirt and well-groomed hair. Stick a brush in their back pocket and they are good to go.

The show ring is surrounded by bleachers packed full of friends and family that came to cheer for their favorite kid and pig. It is a true family event with grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings standing by.

Mom and/or Dad won't be seen around anywhere for long. They give a quick glance as a class comes to a close, then off they scoot to the pig barn for another round on the wash rack with the next waiting swine. They are identifiable by their rubber boots and very wet clothes.

Beside what goes on in the ring, one of the more entertaining parts of the show is the dialogue given by a seasoned swine show judge.

He will take his job quite seriously, scrutinize each animal and then give his reasons for selecting one over another in placing them. He will speak directly, not unkindly, but with definite direction and an explanation.

He either really likes the hog and will tell you why or he doesn't, and with colorful phrasing, explains why.

Here are a few that leave you laughing, especially if you dare liken it to describing anyone you know:

· He's wide coming to you and wide leaving.

· I'd really like to take this pig apart.

· Obviously not breeding stock.

· Doesn't go away with any power.

· Not much strength when he comes at you.

· Would be a better pig if he'd been fed more.

· Had to walk this pig a long way before I liked him.

· Gets up on his toes .... a little heavy on the back end.

· He's got good assets but they all work independently against him.

· Has one good side but this isn't it.

· Need to shrink this pig a little in the loin.

· I'd like to loosen him up in the front end.

· When you look at this pig, you gotta think hog.

· Doesn't go away from you with the authority I'd like.

· This pig jerks as he walks off. I'd sure like to flatten his ribs.

· I'd like to build this hog up and drop him where he's at.

· Functional hog. Think hog. Very competitive hog.

· Big ole, healthy rear end. Fits the profile.

· Both of these pigs are nice but both have the same problem, which is they don't get off the rear end.

· The longer I look at him, the less I like him.

· All these pigs have something to offer but, some more than others. This one isn't one of them.

Some or all of these phrases might come in handy at the next board meeting or family reunion. Some phrases just seem to get the point across better than others.

You can tell them you heard it at the county fair.


Advice from a rancher

By MARY FLITNER

The other day I heard a newsman refer to “these perilous times” for business people. No kidding, I thought. The gloomy picture featured rising costs, increased property taxes, deepening recession, employee demands for more insurance and benefits, market risk — the list went on.

I thought of the risks we’ve faced in ranching, with more to come. Big sigh. Suddenly, I laughed out loud. I remembered being 50 miles from home in 1979, at the Labor Day Horse Race in Tensleep, Wyo. We were in business for ourselves then, too, and our financial picture could charitably be described as bleak. Land-rich, cash poor, is the way the bankers put it. The livestock market was at rock bottom, and nobody was buying ranches, even if we’d wanted to sell.

The races, though: Held on a dirt track at the edge of town, the annual races featured mostly ranch horses brought by people who just wanted to have some fun and see which horses could run. Despite the gloomy business setting we were in, we gathered up some friends and a couple of fast horses and rattled off to Tensleep in a beat-up old pickup and trailer, ready for the horserace.

The sunny autumn day attracted a jolly crowd from nearby towns and ranches. The entry fees were small; our horses won their races and we made a little money. We joked about being a small-time syndicate as we placed some bets, laughing and enjoying our good fortune. Fun is where you find it, especially during hard times.

In the late afternoon, we’d gathered at the bar in town noisily celebrating our victories, when a local fellow started bragging that he had a horse back at his ranch that was faster than any of the others, and he’d bet $1,000 cash to prove it. Somehow, we heard ourselves saying, “Well, then. Go home and get him. You’re on.”

When we pooled our money to cover the bet, our syndicate only had $300 of the $1,000 we needed, so somebody had to write a check for the remainder. There were no ATM machines back then, and cashing an out-of-town check on a holiday wasn’t easy. Nobody had money to spare, and many of us ranchers were heavily in debt.”

A thousand dollars was a lot of money 29 years ago, borrowing at 16 percent interest rates. But somehow, we got the money together and went back out to the track at dusk, each of us secretly wondering if that horse really could outrun ours, and what we’d do if we lost. With a lump in my throat I stood thinking of groceries, school clothes for the kids and how we’d pay the bills.

We waited nervously for the guy to show up. Our friend Delmer, who owned “our” horse, was sweating bullets. ”How’d we get into this?” he asked. ”I’ve never been much of a gambling man.”

After a quiet minute, my husband roared and slapped him on the back. “What? Delmer, you’ve gotta be kidding. You’ve gambled more than this every day you’ve been in the ranching business. You’ve been bucked off horses, run over by cows; you’ve walked home when your truck broke down, worked jobs, made a living against all odds. You’ve gambled on cattle prices and the weather and the price of hay. This horserace is nothing at all compared to being in business for yourself. So if we’re all gambling anyhow, let’s at least have a little fun at it!”

We did. At the starting line, a cowboy had the cash money snapped in his polyester shirt pocket for safekeeping; winner would take all. When the flag dropped, the horses jumped out neck and neck, their hooves pounding in the dirt. The dust flew; we could barely see the finish line and we didn’t know at first who’d won or lost. We did win, though, and we gathered up our money and left town as quickly as we could, feeling more relief than triumph. We knew that $1,000 meant a lot to the loser, too.

Looking back at what we risked that day, I want to give heart to young friends who are struggling to succeed as ranchers, or in any business. “Win some, lose some,” I want to say. Of course it’s perilous. Of course there’s risk, but there’s also reward and sometimes profit, and certainly adventure, satisfaction, achievement.

Definitely it’s a gamble, but oh, the fun of the race.

Mary Flitner is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She ranches and writes in Greybull, Wyo.