WHEN PIGS FLY!

I read a little article in the back pages of the newspaper that told of a pig flying on a commercial aircraft.

I want to tell you something, I was on that flight and it was anything but relaxing.

It all started in the ticket line as I watched two women wearing black trenchcoats standing before me. One of them appeared to be concealing a rather large object under her garments. I noticed a protruding squiggly tail.

When they reached the ticket agent, they calmly stated, “Two adults and one child.”

The agent asked, “How much does the child weigh?”

They replied, “Thirteen pounds.”

Thirteen pounds my foot! That kid sat on someone’s suitcase and flattened it. It must weigh a ton!

My curiosity was aroused so I followed them. My knees went numb as they arrived at my boarding area and I realized we would be flying together. Once again I stood in line behind them.

This time the agent asked to see the child. The woman opened her coat slightly. The agent looked in and appeared dumbfounded.

“Madame,” he softly whispered, “That is a pig!”

Suddenly the other woman pretended to be blind.

The first woman motioned to her and said, “It’s a seeing-eye pig.”

“Very well,” said the agent, “Follow me.”

A seeing-eye pig! He bought that? I hope the pilot has more sense.

I watched as he led them down a walkway to the plane.

My anxiety was running high. As I boarded I saw the two women in first-class. Their faces were buried in magazines. Beside them sat a lump wearing a trenchcoat, black hat, and dark glasses. He looked like Truman Capote but I knew it was...“The Pig.”

“Now ain’t this something!” I thought to myself as I found my seat, “A hog is flying first-class and I’m stuck way back here beside a wing, a wall, and the latrine!”

We took off with a quick dash down the runway and soon reached cruising altitude. I asked a flight attendant, “During take-off I heard a squealing sound. Could you tell me what it was?”

“No cause for alarm, Sir,” she replied, “Probably just a rusty worn-out landing gear or something.”

I shook my head and pretended to buy her story.

What do you know, they were covering it up. They would rather I believe there was a major mechanical malfunction than admit to the pig passenger.

They started to serve dinner. I put down my tray and the attendant tossed a little tiny bag with three peanuts on it.

“What kind of slop are you serving in first-class?” I asked.

“What do you mean. Sir?”

“I’ll bet that pig is eating better than we are?”

She called Security.

The guard came over and whipped out his revolver.

“Don’t shoot me! I’m allergic to bullets,” I said.

“You need to calm down Sir, or we will have to remove you from the aircraft.”

We soon ran into bad weather. Everytime we hit an air pocket the plane dropped ten feet and that Capote fellow up front let out a blood-curdling squeal. When I told the folks around me it was a pig a few of them asked why they couldn’t bring their chickens.

“What if it goes to the bathroom?” asked an elderly woman, “We’re in a confined area.”

For the remainder of the trip we sat motionless waiting for the pig to drop a bomb.

The flight was uneventful until we landed. As we hit the ground the plane bounced and the three hundred-pound porker came flying down the aisle. It slammed into the wall beside me. I tried to grab it but it appeared to have gone berserk and was running everywhere. People screamed, the pig squealed, and the attendants welcomed us to Oklahoma City.

As we deplaned I shoved my way to the front, but by the time I reached first-class the pig was gone. I searched for telltale signs, but all prints and DNA were wiped clean. As I went through the portable walkway I noticed a side door ajar. I looked through it and down a set of stairs to the flightline below.

Lurking in the shadows I saw silhouettes of the two women standing beside a grotesque hideous squatting creature.

I swiftly shut the door and departed the airport.

From now on If someone asks me to do the impossible, you can bet I’m never going to say, “When pigs fly!”