Uncle Jim Goin and Wheel left early each morning to feed the hogs on Uncle Jims’ lease at Krum, Texas, west of Denton.

Wheel was a tiny Jack Russell Terrier that Bobby Jack gave his Dad. I know Aunt Reina had a lot to do with Wheels’ house manners. When you handed him a bit of meat or a bone, he rushed to the back door and sat patiently beside it till someone opened the door so he could eat his treat in the back yard.

Aunt Reina insisted on nice manners from her children and pets. Especially when you consider that she had seven children and they were always farming, this was a huge job.

I recall a Mother Goose Rhyme that always reminded me of my Aunts:

"Coo-coo", said the Dove, "I can scarcely maintain two"

"Pooh-pooh", said the Wren, "I have ten, and keep them all like gentlemen".

Aunt Reina was the Wren who had the most children and kept them clean and fed and well mannered.

I was spending a few days with Uncle Jim and Aunt Reina before their daughter Mary Ann and I went up to Southern Illinois to pick up my mother for our summer trip to Europe.

Mary and I were full of plans for our trip and up early each day. I had been riding out with Uncle Jim to feed the pigs, mainly for the fun of watching Wheel round up the huge hogs for feeding. It was hilarious to watch this tiny dog disappear into the grass and

begin herding these large animals, who squealed and grunted, into the feeding pen. But he did it quickly and proudly. He was a good worker, and knew it.

He and Uncle Jim were a team. By the time Wheel got the pigs rounded up, Uncle Jim had their feed mixed.

The morning Mary Ann decided to come along, one of the sows had produced a litter. She was a huge animal and had accidentally rolled over on one piglet who was quite flat. Literally.

Uncle Jim picked up the squashed little pig, looked it over and sighed, "The poor little thing can't live".

He tossed it into the tall grass and turned his attention to the rest of his work.

My cousin Mary Ann had polio as a small child and had her eighteenth operation the year she was eighteen, and her heart went out to the little crippled pig.

She drifted around the pickup, found a quart milk carton and opened one end. She found the tiny pig, still breathing, in the grass and scooped him into the carton. It was a loose fit. He was a runt as well as a flat pig.

I understood Marys’ compassion, but didn’t see how the little thing could survive.

When Wheel came to see what we were up to, Mary sternly said, "Now, Wheel, don’t you tell Daddy we have this little pig."

Wheel cocked his ears, decided it was none of his business, and ignored the presence of the piglet.

Mary slid the milk carton under the seat of the pickup and we all drove back to the house, everyone pretending that we didn’t have the little flat pig with us.

In retrospect, I’m sure Uncle Jim knew exactly what we were up to. All his children were grown, with grandchildren arriving yearly. He had developed the selective attention of the wise parent who knows when to become deaf to the children.

If the pig didn’t make it, he would have no knowledge of the situation and it wouldn’t be his fault.

When we reached their home on North Locust in Denton, we all went into the house together. Uncle Jim settled in the living room with the Denton Record Chronicle and Wheel, while Mary and I went in the kitchen to tell Aunt Reina of the flat pig.

Aunt Reina was pleased, and said she’d always liked pigs, to bring it right in. She put a towel in a dishpan and told Mary to bring the piglet in the house through the kitchen door.

Mary worried that her Dad would hear the pig and throw it out again.

"We’ll hide it", Aunt Reina assured us.

Mary brought pig in the house and her mother examined the little thing, poking and prodding gently,

After a thorough examination by this experienced farm wife, she announced that we could save it, but we’d have to keep turning pig from side to side till he could stand on his own.

She got a well worn baby bottle from her back porch, washed it and warmed some milk for the newest member of the household.

Pig ate with enthusiasm, but saw absolutely no sense in being turned from side to side. He objected loudly, with squeals of anguish. Uncle Jim would have had to be stone deaf not to have heard unhappy pig noises coming from his kitchen.

When Mary and I worried about being discovered, Aunt Reina said Uncle Jim would hear nothing - his hearing was rather bad of late. Just keep pig out of sight till we could get him walking.

She explained this was critical. If we couldn’t get him up and walking, he wouldn’t make it. Mary and I took turns holding the dishpan and turning Pig, who

developed a strong set of lungs from the exercise, which he hated. He got louder and louder, hourly, it seemed.

As other members of the family came by, some took turns pig turning and sitting.

Her brother Buddy asked Mary what the pigs’ name was, and she firmly answered, "Pig."

Mary Ann has always heartily disliked "cute" names for animals. Her dog was named Dog, her cat Kitty. She did have a dog named Rover, but when someone commented that was a plain name for an elegant dog, she answered that it was good enough for Robert Burns dog, and it was good enough for hers.

In later years she did relent enough to call a few pets by the short version of their registered name. I had been calling the little thing Piglet, but it’s usually a losing battle to cross words with any college teacher, so I didn’t try to argue the point with professor Mary Ann. Piglet was Pig.

Pig ate and grew and squealed and grunted louder and louder.

Mary kept trying to prop Pig up, but after three days, he still fell over on his side when she tried to get him to stand. One side of him began to fill out while the other side remained flat.

His feet and legs had good motion and Mary refused to give up on her efforts to get him to stand.

The afternoon of the fourth day of pig-turning, Mary again placed him on the floor and encouraged him to stand.

He tottered in a tight circle, giving huge pig yells of pain and fury, then flopped down.

Mary, Aunt Reina and I burst into spontaneous applause which startled him into silence.

He got stronger, bigger, louder, but still was flat on one side and could only walk in circles.

The grandkids adored him as he was a very funny pet. They thought he was quite wonderful when he attempted to run away and went in furious circles.

By this time Uncle Jim had acknowledged the presence of a pig in his home. Aunt Reina assured Mary and me that she would have the boys build a pen in the backyard and take good care of Pig when we left.

So Mary and I set off for the hinterlands of Southern Illinois to pick up my mother and set out for Europe.

Pig got his backyard pen and grew to nearly five hundred pounds.

He never did walk quite straight, but had a slight port list that just added to his character, which was very friendly.

Mary Ann said she knew when she saw him that he just needed someone to believe in him and give him a little help. The rest he did himself.

This is rather a good description of my cousin Mary, herself.