Little Piggies Don't Shop

We are all guilty. We've all done it, telling the terrorizing tale of the piggies gone to market, giggling at a toddler's delight. We are, at our core, sadistic monsters, passing our gallows humor on to generations following, while wiggling little toes.

As a wise person once said, "We are all crazy. Some of us simply have not been diagnosed."

As for the piggies in question: Piggies are not allowed into banks to cash their paychecks, nor do they have credit cards. Furthermore, farmers do not pay them for their bacon. In effect, piggies trade their flesh for their very survival. Farmers are piggy pimps and piggies are, well, you get the idea.

Remember these facts when you are tickling a toddler's tootsies, ready to recite your vile rhyme to them. Shall we begin at the end? Yes, we shall.

What would prompt such an outburst, like, "Wee-wee, wee-wee!" from a little piggy? Was it an exclamation of joy? The fact that he ran all the way home tells me this was an expression of horror, not glee. Although I do not speak Porcine, so this is just a guess.

What, I'm wondering, would cause a little piggy to shriek and run from the market? Piggies are not fond of running.

Perhaps he was trying to get back home before all the roast beef was gone. Or, darker yet, he was running in terror from forces that the little fairy tale ditty hides from us. What could possibly be the cause of a little piggy running a full-on marathon?

The piggy who had no roast beef always made me believe he was the thinker of the group. "Here, little piggy, come and eat this roast beef. It will make you big and fat!" called the farmer, while the piggy turned up his snout and walked away. The only piggy with an ounce of smarts refused the offering that would put on pounds of fat.

The foolish piggy who gobbled down all of the roast beef without a thought for his companions would soon be weighed and sold for his gluttony. Licking his pink lips, he was satisfied for the moment, and his tiny brain only registered the temporary pleasure. He reminds me of many humans who take their temporary pleasures in life with no regard for those around them and their needs.

The little piggy who stayed home was spared on that particular day, for no reason other than he was more difficult to load onto the farmer's wagon. Another week to fatten up. A few more days to roll in the mud and snarfle food out of the trough. Ah, to be a piggy without a care in the world. Though it be short-lived. The careless beings who tumble through life, expecting others to care for them always end up the same way.

Now, to the star of the fairy tale, this little piggy who went to market without a dime in his little slot. Was he looking for sweets and roast beef to fill his belly? Was he going to buy a scrub brush for his beloved? Maybe some deodorant for those hot days when he rolled in the mud?

Do you think he jumped up and down when the farmer asked who wanted to go to market with him that morning? "Me! Pick me! Pick me!" In little piggy squeals, of course.

We don't know what was happening in his tiny piggy brain. However, the last thing he was thinking was the only reason for a piggy to be taken to market wasn't going to end well for the pig. If a piggy couldn't pull the wagon or help the farmer carry his purchases home, what use could he possibly be?

You might think that as the butcher led him to the scales it would have dawned on him that something was not right. Seeing the butcher count out the coins to the farmer still did not register. When the butcher donned his white apron, smeared with the blood of pigs gone by it should have sent alarms to his porcine brain.

The quick flash of a sharp knife at his throat and the blood running down his flank still left him clueless, until, at last, he dropped to his scabby knees in the bloodied mud.

His only regret? That he did not put up a fuss when the farmer herded him onto the cart, and instead shove his brother pig ahead of him.

Pigs are not nice. Don't believe spiders, whose brains are even smaller than a pig's.