On a warm, late-summer day, the legend was born,
This, my attempt to rhyme, I forewarn.
It was time for the fair to come to the county,
All vying for ribbons, and farmers selling their bounty.
Young Sonny was summoned, and he didn’t dare linger.
Take the pig to the fair, his Dad shook his finger,
And don’t you be racin’ with my old Chevy;
No funny stuff, for that truck is too heavy.
Then into the bed they loaded the pig,
Rosy pink and nearly 700 lbs. big;
With a perfectly curled tail and perky little ears,
Piggy rose effortlessly above his peers.
The truck it was waitin’ and Sonny slid inside.
Hold on, little piggy, you’re goin’ for a ride!
Surely a pig that size would stay in place;
It was only 6 miles, and Sonny’d hold his pace.
But County E lay ahead and to be a racer his fate,
He kept it tight in the corners; like a bullet on the straight.
That old Chevy, Sonny pushed to its limit;
It was pedal to the rusty metal and give it!
Richert’s bridge loomed large in the distance.
He could take it, if by the seat of his pants.
Sonny knew if he hit the rise in the road just right
He could jump that bridge without a fight.
If this didn’t go right, he’d be needin’ a church,
He gunned the motor and with a mighty lurch,
The quarterpanels flapped, and the tires spun free
YeeHah! Sonny whooped with unfettered glee.
That old truck flew with the grace of a bird
On nothing but guts and glory was spurred.
Then the tires kissed the pavement with one little bounce
And ah, sweet success, he hadn’t worried an ounce.
To let off some steam he turned up the radio
And sang along with Bill Monroe.
It was a good day, a great day indeed,
For he’d fulfilled his thirsty need for speed.
Sonny pulled into Steigers to pump some gas,
Whistling as he filled the tank with a splash.
And then it hit, like a slap in the face,
Something was horribly, horribly out of place.
It started with a cold sweat that beaded on his brow
And a twist of his innards, he'd got him some trouble now.
He replaced the hose, as his hands began to shake
Oh Lordy, his head really started to ache.
The pig, it was gone, and his Dad was going to kill 'im!
He tore out of the station, feeling quite grim,
The tires into the gravel did dig,
His undoing lay on the fate of that pig.
By the side of the creek that pink lump did lay.
“A bit skun up,” Sonny would later say.
But one tough ham as he’d always recall,
That big, old pig could really take a fall.
The story lay fallow for quite some time.
It was years before Jack knew the nature of Sonny’s crime.
And why his favorite hog failed to earn that year
The blue ribbon and top dollar, Jack was so sure.
As the years rolled on, Sonny retold the story
Of the poor pig so wrongly robbed of his glory.
He’d tell it with a chuckle and a slap of the knee
While all of us around him laughed with glee.
Now the legend lives on and the townspeople say
The pig still haunts that bridge to this day.
So I warn you truly, when you're out on County E;
Look for a flash of pink as you cross, just wait and see.