Some stories are short and sweet. Some, however, just need to be told long…

A traveling salesman was out in the rural areas of the country one day and managed to get himself totally lost. To make matters worse, his car started acting up. By midafternoon, he began to wonder if he’d ever make it back to civilization again.

As the day drew to a close, the car’s engine suddenly decided it had had enough, stranding him in what appeared to be the proverbial “middle of nowhere”. He grabbed his briefcase, got out of the car and gave the recalcitrant object of his distress a well-deserved kick (hurting his foot in the process). The car, however, remained unmoved.

With no sense of intuition whatsoever, he chose a direction and limped off into the sunset. The evening fell with a silent crash, revealing an immense sky full of stars. Luckily, the evening was cool and pleasant, and after an hour of walking (he was getting pretty tired by then), he finally spotted a light in the distance.

Picking up the pace a bit (although still limping), within a few more minutes he finally reached what turned out to be a farmhouse. A knock on the door produced a surprised but welcoming hand into the house from the occupants (a somewhat elderly couple), who kindly offered him a seat in a remarkably comfortable overstuffed chair in the living room.

After making sure he was well-situated, the farmer asked affably, “Now, how can we help you, Mister?”

“Well, my car broke down, up the road a ways,” the salesman told him around a plateful of fried chicken that had mysteriously appeared in his lap. “I was wondering if I could use your phone to call for help?”

The old man glanced at the Missus and slowly replied, “Well, young feller; we ain’t got no phone, I’m afraid. And Billy-Bob’s Garage is already closed for the evenin’ – I think he’s gone over to Waller’s Corner for the big dance this evenin’, anyways. But we’d be pleased to let you sleep here tonight, and we’ll take you to see him in the mornin’. He’s got one of them there tow-trucks, and should be able to fix you right up.”

The salesman was impressed by (and very grateful for) their hospitality for a total stranger. “I’d be honored to stay with you folks, and thanks for the help,” he told them with sincerity. “If you’ll just show me where to sleep, I’m rather tired from the long walk.”

The Missus led him upstairs, showing him a well-furnished and comfortable bedroom. The sight of the bed made him realize how tired he was, and he immediately turned in. His last coherent thought as he drifted off to sleep was, “What nice people…”

The next morning dawned brightly and, as was normal for farmer folk, early. Just after daybreak, the smell of freshly brewed coffee woke the salesman from a wonderful, restful sleep. He climbed out of bed and looked out the window, enjoying the typical farmhouse view: green fields of… whatever…, a largish pond, ducks and chickens wandering around, a three-legged pig…

Suddenly brought up short, he looked again. Sure enough, it was definitely a three-legged pig walking – no, make that hobbling – around out there. Intrigued, he made his way to the kitchen. But when he saw the amazing things being done by the Missus, he forgot about everything else except how incredibly hungry he was.

“Good mornin’, Mister,” she greeted him, indicating a beautifully-carved wooden chair. “Have a seat right here and I’ll get your breakfast.”

For a brief moment, he thought about protesting, but the remarkable spread was just too good to pass up, so he had a seat. Less than a minute later, the back door opened and the farmer came in and joined him. It was an amazing meal: hotcakes with rich country butter and dripping with maple syrup, a huge bowl of grits, three kinds of eggs – not to mention thick slabs of ham, fried to perfection and juicy-hot.

After ingesting what was perhaps the best meal of his entire life (including that over-the-top meal at Chez… Gomez’s, yeah that was it, back in 1997), he finally pushed the chair back with a contented sigh.

“You folks sure know how to eat around here,” he told them with a grateful smile. “Good thing I’m not staying, though, or in a week I’d weigh about a thousand pounds!”

“Only too happy to help,” the farmer told him. “Besides, you looked like you needed a rest.”

Suddenly the pig came back to mind, and the salesman just had to ask. “Say,” he said as he poured himself a third cup of coffee. “I thought I saw a three-legged pig this morning out by the pond. What happened to him?”

“Well, there’s a story behind that,” laughed the old farmer. He settled into his chair a bit. “See, one day – oh, I guess it was about a year ago last February, wasn’t it Mother? I was in the barn workin’ late one night, and the wind was blowin’ so hard it was shakin’ the walls.

“Well, I had this lantern hangin’ on a hook on the wall, and all of a sudden-like, it got shook right off the wall and into the hay piled up in the corner! In no time at all, there was a big ol’ fire, spreadin’ all over the place. I couldn’t get out and nearly got overcome with smoke pretty quick. In fact, I nearly died that night!”

His wife moved over and stood behind him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders as he related the story. I could see she was tearing up a bit at the remembered event. He put one of his big, rough hands softly on one of hers.

“Well sir, that there pig ran right into the barn, clamped his teeth on the shoulder of my coveralls, and dragged me from the barn! Saved my life, he did!” He stopped and looked at me with an inscrutable expression on his face.

The salesman marveled. “That’s amazing! I didn’t know pigs could do that. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know pigs had teeth!” But after a few puzzled moments, he asked again, “But… uh, why does he only have three legs?”

“Oh! There’s a story behind that,” the old farmer said in a strangely déjà vu moment. “See, one day, oh, I guess it was a couple of months later, I was out on the boat in that there pond, doin’ my best to catch dinner.” He shook his head ruefully. “Danged things are right sneaky ’bout gettin’ themselves hooked, I’ll tell ya.”

“Anyway, I happened to catch a pretty fair-sized one for a change, and just as I was takin’ him off the hook, the slippery little rascal slipped right out of my hand. Well, I wasn’t about to let that feller go without a fight, so I reached over to grab him before it was too late. Only problem was, I ended up in the water instead of the fish!”

The missus squeezed her husband’s hand as he related the story. Clearly, yet another emotional moment.

“Well,” he continued, “Somehow, I managed to get all tangled up in the tackle, and I could hardly keep my head above the water. I was just about to breathe my last when ol’ pig over there jumped into the water, swam over to me, clamped his little teeth on my shirt sleeve, and pulled me back to shore. Saved my life again, he did!”

There was an extended pause, during which the salesman could distinctly hear brain cells literally screaming for more information. “Gee, pigs can swim, too? That’s some pig,” the salesman exclaimed. “But… I still don’t understand. Why does he only have three legs?”

“Well, that’s what I’m tryin’ to explain to you, young man,” the farmer replied, in as close to exasperation as he probably got. “See, you don’t eat a pig that valuable all at once.”

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OK; so it’s an old joke. But what can I say – it’s a Friday. At least I got to practice my writing skills. (Preparing for that Great American Novel I’m going to start working on. Any day now.)