By Estanislao Albano, Jr.
Note: I shared this on this space and also posted it on my Facebook Wall six years ago when it happened. It popped up the other day as a memory and I thought of replaying it for those who did not read it the first time.
You may call this silly, but it has always been a matter of curiousity to me who my kids’ favorite parent is. When I jokingly asked them who, they would not answer so it remains a mystery to me. Sometimes they do things which made me believe that I am their favorite parent and sometimes it would be the opposite.
This pig (the post was accompanied by a picture of the pig), however, settled the question once and for all and it appears that they have the same favorite parent and it’s not me.
It all started around a month ago when our native pig fattener started relieving itself on its concrete trough. The turn of events took me by surprise because from my long experience of raising pigs, native pigs do not deposit their dung and urine in their eating spot. This made the chore of feeding the pig tricky and distasteful as no matter how I tried, the filthy mixture of water and dung would sometimes splatter on my arm holding the broom with which I clean the trough. Around a week after that, I had enough of the inconvenience and showed Florence the dung-filled trough suggesting we just have the pig butchered. She simply replied: “Saan ta dumakdakkel pay” (Let it grow further).
Knowing that Florence seldom changes her mind, I no longer argued although I would have wanted to point out that she thinks that way because it’s not she getting into the pigsty to clean the trough. I told myself that I will appeal the case to the kids and it was timely that Pia Ursula was scheduled to come home for a short vacation. So the earliest chance I got, I showed to her the trough in all its filthy glory and told her the decision of her mom. She merely said with finality: “Pagbigyamon isuna, papa.” (Just go along with her wishes, papa). Expecting Pia Ursula would objectively appreciate the situation, I was disappointed. Not yet giving up, I texted Aglaia Marie who was in Metro Manila the situation asking her what she thinks only to hear her say “In-inayadem a ngamin tapno saanka maparsiakan” (You do it gently so you will not be splattered). I answered that you need to sweep the trough vigorously so the content would hurdle its wall but she no longer answered me.
With both kids taking the side of Florence, I resigned myself to cleaning that trough until Florence decides it’s time to dispose the pig whenever that would be. I also accepted that the girls lean towards their mom.
That’s not the end of the story, however. The other Monday when I went to feed the pig, it was sprawled in the far end of the sty. It was making feeble attempts to stand up but it simply did not have the strength to do so. There was blood to one side of its head which I presumed came from its mouth. When I poked it on the side to goad it to stand, it was no use. It was obvious that it was beyond saving so I called Florence to see. Upon sizing up the hopeless situation of the pig, she commented: “Natadem ngamin ti dilam. Parti-parti kunam to met.” (You have a sharp tongue. You talked about butchering, that’s why). She instructed that I just have it buried when it dies because the meat might be dangerous to the health. Although I do not believe that the meat would be toxic or something, just to make sure, I went to see Veterinarian Oliver Cagan. Upon my description of the situation, he said that I should just kill the pig and let the meat be eaten as there is nothing wrong with it.
As to what might have caused the condition of the pig, Dr. Cagan theorized that it might have panicked during the thunderstorm the night before and went on a rampage breaking its back in the process. I told myself that that’s possible because I could think of outside agent that could have caused the disabling of the pig.
Although my kids seem to prefer Florence over me, at least I found some sympathy in nature.
Minutes after I shared the memory, my brother-in-law Mike Pekas came over to the house and told me he has an idea how I could determine conclusively the favorite parent of my daughters. He said that I will ask them to buy me a motorcycle and their response would clarify the matter. He and my other brother-in-laws have been badgering me to buy a new motorcycle as according to them, my 12-year old XRM does not suit my status as a retiree. I laughed but chose not to take the risk.**
