By Emory Jones
My pet pig, Cunningham (AKA North Georgia’s most theatrical pig) is so wound up about taking part in the upcoming play, “Cheever,” down in Clermont, he can’t stay still in his stall.
He’s been celebrating ever since. In fact, he’s now entered what theater people call “a full-blown transformation arc.”
“This isn’t just casting,” he snorted, adjusting those fake pig glasses he’s taken to wearing. “It’s destiny.”
I’m proud of him and all, but to be honest, this thing has gone to his little pig’s head. You’d think he’s the star of the darn thing by how he’s acting. (No pun intended) He’s been practicing his crowing night and day. He even followed my wife, Judy, to the motel room she claims to have won on a radio giveaway, to surprise her at sunrise. And, boy, was she surprised! So was the manager.
Since the big announcement, that pig’s been fielding interviews right and left. He told one reporter he’s “redefining rooster hood for the modern stage.” See what I’m dealing with here?
You may have noticed him on the cover of last month’s Playboar magazine. He’s also been interviewed on Sow & Silk, which, if you’re not familiar, think Southern Living meets Penthouse in a feed store. He’s hoping his mama doesn’t see that one, but it is what it is.
“WJHOG out of Shoat City, Iowa, tried to book him for a morning segment called Sunrise with Swine, but Cunningham declined. Said the lighting was, and I’m quoting here, “unflattering to his hock line,” whatever that means.
He even asked me to take him for a pigacure. To the layman, that may sound simple, but you’d be surprised how hard it is to find a decent hoof stylist these days—especially one who carries the “rooster red” polish he insists on wearing. We tried for days, but everywhere we went, the staff stood firm, so we gave up.
However, he’s asked me to draft a strongly worded letter to the editor and is considering legal action.
Naturally, he wanted a haircut, too. And since Cunningham insisted that only a Master Cosmetologist clip his curls, we had to shop around.
At the first place, I politely asked the receptionist, “Excuse me. But do you cut pig’s hair?”
“We used to,” she whispered. “Back when Miss Loretta ran the place, but ever since that hot roller incident, it’s been strictly humans and show chickens.”
We kept looking until I finally found a receptionist who said, “We don’t advertise that, but if he’s got references and a clean snout, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Is this person a Master Cosmetologist?” I asked. “He’ll pitch a fit if she’s not.”
Turns out she was, and it was a good thing, too, because Cunningham insisted on the ever-popular Farrah Fawcett look. This was right down her alley. The woman rolled Cunningham’s curls into tight spirals and trimmed his bangs with surgical precision.
So, if you see Cunningham strutting through town this week, don’t be alarmed. He’s not just rehearsing. He’s living the role. And when that curtain rises on October 3rd, you’d better believe he’ll crow like his life depends on it.
Because, according to Judy, it does.
Emory Jones is a White County author, humorist, and historian.