Mr Pig

There once was a pig who lived on a farm, in a truly magnificent pen. His home was surrounded by delightful sights and other farmyard animals. But Mr Pig decided early on (when he was just a new pink piglet) that he would not be concerned with matters of material value.

Mr Pig became obsessed with the curing of the perfect bacon.

Now this may seem rather odd to you, but you see, Mr Pig knew from the moment his hoofs felt the air for the very first time that the purpose of his life was to become bacon. And being a thorough sort, he made it his goal to be the best bacon that the farmer had ever tasted.

Now this would be all well and good, but the method in which Mr Pig went about his mission was not so good. You would think that to be the best bacon, a pig would need to eat the best food, drink long cool drafts of freshly pumped water and laze in the sun in sheer happy bliss. In this way, one would be correct in thinking that a pig who was happy, healthy and nicely round would indeed cure into delicious bacon and chops.

However, our Mr Pig got the total wrong end of the stick. He decided that he would avail himself of all of the cooking secrets that make an excellent side of smoked and cured bacon. And so the misguided soul kept his ears out for tidbits of information - how hot should the smoker be? - what wood produced the best flavour? - what proportion of fat to pork was ideal?

In not too long, Mr Pig found that his humble pen did not allow him the luxury of further knowledge. So he devised a clever plan so that he could escape at night, and so began his wonderings far and wide to gain even more knowledge on how to cure bacon. He perched himself outside farmhouses and listened to recipes and watched how different farmers stoked their smoking sheds. He planted his front hoofs on window sills to listen in and stowed away in hay wagons to venture further afield.

In short, Mr Pig became rather a pest. The farmer, instead of benefiting from all of this highly interesting culinary method gathering, woke up each morning with dread in his chest. Before he even checked the barn, Mr Farmer hitched up the wagon, knowing that one neighbour or other was going to send a message to come and collect his pig. He spent so much time in his wagon that chores were being neglected and his bottom was getting rather sore.

Now oddly enough, in all of his wonderings and wanderings, it did not occur to Mr Pig that however much he KNEW about bacon, this knowledge would not change one mouthful of flavour or quality of his own bacon. And besides, with all of this fruitless running about, Mr Pig was becoming rather lean and tired. His food was wasted in the trough. He forgot to drink any water. So preoccupied with hickory and pineapple and sea salt was he that all the barnyard animals could not talk to him anymore.

Mr Pig became rather ill. But he was still bent upon his quest. He could not rest, he could not eat - when he became too weak to leave his pen he became depressed…

Mr Horse noticed that Mr Pig was in his pen this morning!

“I hope that this means your ridiculous quest is over!” neighed Mr Horse.

Mr Pig did not move. He could not believe the words this horse was saying - maybe he heard wrong. Besides, he was too weak and thin to move anyway.

“What?” he mumbled. “Why… is… it… ridiculous?”

Mr Horse paused, and gazed kindly upon the disillusioned porker. “You see, Mr Pig, the kind of bacon you will be does not depend on how much you know about cooking it. It depends upon you just being you right here, and doing what you need to do. Eat plenty, drink lots, get fat. And if you want to make a truly good bacon, just be happy. The farmer knows exactly what to do with your bacon when the time comes, so you might as well just enjoy the ride while you are here in the barnyard with us!”

Mr Pig, thankfully, realised the error of his ways. He mended his fences and got down to the business of bulking up and being happy. He became a joyful barn mate and a thoughtful friend. He excelled at making mud angels and was gratified to notice that his mud angels grew plump and heavy. He grunted recipe suggestions to the farmer, but I do not think the farmer understood.

In the end, the farmer and his family did make exceedingly good bacon from Mr Pig. In fact, Mr Pig’s sides were the talk of the town, and the farmer said - when asked what the secret was - while scratching his head, “Well I don't rightly know. I do know, though, that he was a very happy pig, after he stopped his roaming!”

And of course everybody laughed, because everybody knew of Mr Pig’s adventures.

Mr Pig was always destined to have the finest bacon. This was written in his gene stars from the beginning. He spent so much time ‘trying’ to be what he already was until it clean wore him out and he nearly destroyed the very thing he wanted the most…

The moral of this story is to simply love the passion of your heart. Dream the dreams within, and let the magic unfold :)