Pig's Up A Tree
I'm sorry, you can't come in. The Pondering Pig may not be disturbed.
This is his assistant, The Pondering Chicken, speaking. The Pig is out in the pear tree meditating and refuses to come down until he finds inner serenity.
Look, you can see him out there. He's built a little platform and he's sitting cross-legged seeking divine wisdom. At least I think he's seeking divine wisdom. Mainly he seems to be fiddling with his new turban. Next he'll want me to get him one of those plastic clip-on kind.
Anyway, you can't come in. Try again at dinnertime.
While we are waiting for the Pig to find inner peace, I've put together a little program of scraps of poetry and things I've found in his wastebasket over the years. The program will start as soon as I can figure out how this computer works.
The Pondering Chicken
Photo credit: Bay Area Hiker
Labels: A Panoply of Pondering
posted by Christopher Newton at 5:01 PM
5 Comments:
The Pondering Chicken?! I'm sorry, I am not aquainted with this fellow and do not accept him as a suitable substitute for the Pondering Pig. Imagine, any sort of animal could be coming through the door next and saying he is the Pig's long lost brother. We need some sort of verification that you are authorized to speak for PP, pollo.
Listen, I've been working for that silly pig for years! Who do you think signs his checks and keeps his accounts and answers the phone while he's out communing with a bunch of squirrels? I do admit I have recently added Pondering to my name. I didn't think anyone would mind. I was just tired of being called 'that chicken over there'.
The Pondering Pig doesn't know yet. He thinks I'm still The Busy Little Hen.
In a former life I spent some time as a fruit tramp in Parkdale Oregon. The photo of the pear brought back of rush of sweet memories and this verse:
"Lew Merz Pear Trees are the toppers
'Cause of work we do with loppers
Eat a pear today for fun,
His can't be beat by anyone!
Sweet and juicy, yummy good,
All "
Then it went on and on...had different verses for bartletts, boscs and d'anjoes. I don't remember the rest. What can I say? It was a LONG time ago, just a silly little ditty we used to sing from the treetops as we were pruining/thinning.
Thanks for the memory!
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Look, youse guys. I am trying like a cat chasing a mouse in a corn crib to understand this blogger stuff. Face it, I have a hard enough time with those pesky woodpeckers.
I been hanging with this pig and and all those barnyard bards and that blasted cow for, like, better than 60 years now. The pig and the cow are tolerable. They are, like me, part of the legend. The chicken, well, the chicken is a candidate for the stew pot. That's all I have to say. Goodnight.
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