Potluck

When I was in 7th grade my dad worked in San Bernardino at a place called Sinclair Paint. He sold paint to companies, as well as the average person. Around this time a lot of businesses in San Bernardino were going out of business. This caused a bunch of empty buildings and warehouses in the blocks surrounding my dad’s work.

One day while on his lunch break, he was outside near his truck having a cigarette when he heard screams. At first, he dismissed the sound but after a few minutes the screams grew louder. They were not screams of pain but screams of sadness. It sounded as if someone had given up and was drowning in depression. My dad followed the screams to one of the nearby warehouses. There he made a shocking discovery...

That evening I was at home with my mom doing homework while she cooked. Out of the blue the phone rang. My mom answered since she was closer. “Hello. We’re fine. Are you...” she stopped talking suddenly. Her face went from normal to angry, “A surprise?! NO!”

It was my dad on the other end. He had told her that he had a surprise for her and yes, this caused her to freak out. You see, a few weeks earlier my dad had called my mom and said he had a surprise for her, and when he got home, he had a jet ski. Yep, you heard right, he had bought a jet ski and not talked to her about it. Now he had called again with another surprise. I listened to my mom yell while she paced waiting to see what he was bringing home now.

A short time later my dad came pulling in the driveway. There was no trailer on the back so maybe he was just joking. That is when I saw my mom’s face, she was confused. I took a second look and that’s when I saw it, a crate in the bed of the truck. We walked up as my dad got out of the truck. “Guys meet Potluck,” he said smiling at the crate.

Squealing and snorting came from the crate as we got close to see what was inside. A pig! Not just any little pig either. This was a huge fully grown potbelly pig. My dad told us the story while he cleaned the garage to make room for the pig.

While having his at lunch cigarette he had heard the cries of something coming from an abandoned warehouse. Once inside he found a pig in a crate. It had been left with a bag of dog food and no water. It was scared and alone. So, after getting it some water and gaining its trust he moved its crate into the truck and took it home.

My dad named his new friend Potluck. Potluck lived in our garage and was spoiled. When I say spoiled, I mean it. For example, Potluck loved Cheerios cereal. It was her favorite thing to eat. My mom would buy box after box for her. Sometimes when the store was out of name brand Cheerios my mom would get the cheaper ones, but Potluck would not eat them. She knew the difference.

Potluck loved my dad and his dog, she tolerated my mom, and hated me. She would chase me and snap at my feet. My dad said it was because I was afraid of her, but I wasn’t afraid. I really was excited to get to know Potluck and experience what a pet pig would be like but instead I kept my distance from her. I have always thought she didn’t like me because I was a kid and maybe kids had hurt her.

Potluck lived with us for almost two years. In that time, she had tripled in size. Our garage was no longer big enough for her to be happy. Thankfully one of my mom’s coworkers had a farm with plenty of room. After a few weeks of waiting for a pen to be built Potluck she was picked up and taken to her new home.