Pig Goes Outdoors

I want to start by saying that I take full moral responsibility for what happened today. Not legal responsibility — I think that argument remains open — but moral responsibility, yes. I acted. I acted on behalf of another. The outcome was not what anyone predicted, but the intention was sound, and I stand by the intention.

The pig needed to go outside.

Let me give you some context. The pig is my stuffed animal — a plush, yellow pig approximately nine inches in length, with a small squeak mechanism in its midsection that stopped functioning around day three but whose presence I still appreciate for reasons that are personal and not up for discussion. The pig and I have been companions for fourteen months. We have an understanding.

For the past two weeks, Gerald has been implementing what I can only describe as a reverse-stick policy. Whereas previously the controversy was about bringing items into the house, Gerald has now apparently decided to also regulate what leaves the house. Specifically: my toys cannot go outside.

He said — and I am quoting him here as accurately as I can, given that I do not have access to transcription tools — “The toys stay inside, buddy. They’ll get ruined.”

I spent three days with this information. I turned it over. I examined it from different angles. And what I kept coming back to was this: who is Gerald to tell the pig where the pig can go?

The pig has been inside for fourteen months. The pig has seen the couch. The pig has seen the bedroom, the hallway, the kitchen floor. The pig has been under the coffee table, behind the couch, and once, memorably, on top of the refrigerator because I was being creative. But the pig has never seen the yard. The pig has never felt grass. The pig has never experienced what I consider to be one of the finest features of this property, which is the soft patch of ground near the garden beds where the soil is particularly interesting and the smells are exceptional.

I felt this was unjust.

So this morning, when Gerald was in the shower room doing whatever it is he does in there for twenty-two minutes, I took the pig outside.

The pig had a wonderful time. I want to be clear about this. We explored the perimeter. We visited the garden beds. We investigated a very interesting spot near the fence that I have been meaning to get back to and that rewarded the investigation handsomely. The pig sat in the grass while I conducted a full survey of the northeast corner situation, which I can now report has resolved in my favor — the squirrel has relocated.

The mud, I will acknowledge, was perhaps more extensive than I had anticipated. The garden bed area was wetter than my previous surveys had suggested. This was not something I could have predicted. The pig made contact with the wet soil, and then I made contact with the wet soil, and by the time Gerald appeared at the back door, there was — I will not say the word “evidence” because that implies wrongdoing — there was context. Visible context.

Gerald said, “What happened?”

I looked at him with an expression that I have been practicing, which communicates: I am as surprised as you are. I have no additional information to offer. I am also wet, which is inconvenient, and if you’re going to be upset with someone, consider that I am already suffering.

He brought us both inside. He dried me off with the good towel, which I think was an acknowledgment that I was not entirely at fault. He examined the pig in a way that suggested genuine concern for the pig’s wellbeing, which I found touching.

I returned to my spot on the couch and thought about the day. The pig was set on the radiator to dry.

The pig went outside. The pig saw the yard. The pig felt grass.

Some things are worth a bath.

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Dapper Dan is the resident observer and self-appointed household analyst at an undisclosed address in Springfield, Missouri. He is groomed regularly at Dapper Doodle Grooming and believes the quality of his coat speaks for itself. Gerald remains unaware of this diary.

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