Where’s Mabell?

Samuel T Griffis

The Celeste Tribune

When I was growing up in the country, almost every youngster was a member of a 4-H club. I belonged to the Hogeye 4-H, so named for the community it was located in. I was ten or so when my dad learned the 4-H clubs in the area were having a pig giveaway contest. All a member had to do was write an essay to the county extension agency explaining why they should win a pig. Daddy encouraged me to enter the contest. His encouragement went kind of like this, “Get some paper and a pencil and write something to win a pig.” “But, Daddy, I don’t wan----”. “Write!”

So I wrote. I didn’t care one thing about winning, but I wrote. I didn’t want to take care of any animal, especially a pig, but I wrote. And wouldn’t you know it, I won one of the dang things.

My Uncle Tom took me to the place in Greenville to get the pig. He helped me pick one out and we loaded it in his truck and headed back to the farm in Hogeye.

When we got home, I took the little Duroc pig and put her in a pen. She seemed scared, so I got in the pen with her and patted her back and rubbed her belly. Soon she was calm and nudging up against me. It was right then I made a big mistake for a farm boy; I let an animal other than a dog or cat become a pet.

I named her Mabell and I fed and petted her every day. And she grew. Sometimes I would let her out of the pen and she would actually follow me around like a dog. I’d give her something to eat. She grew some more. I would sit down and she would nestle up against me wanting to be rubbed and fed. She got bigger. Soon she wasn’t my cute little pet pig. Now, she was my great big pet hog. She was about as big as she was going to get and I was soon to experience what life on the farm was all about.

I got off the school bus one cold winter day and soon made my way to the pig pen to check on Mabell. I found the pen empty.. Thinking she had gotten out and wandered off somewhere, I began looking for her. “Mabell,! Mabell!” I shouted, but she didn’t come. I looked everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found.

I ran to the house and found Mama in the kitchen. “Mama! Mama! Have you seen Mabell? Where’s Mabell ?” I asked anxiously.

Mama hesitated for a moment before answering, “She is over at your granddad’s.”

“Why? Did she get out and go over there? “ I wanted to know. “No,” Mama stated in a measured tone, “ they came over here and got her. Your dad and granddad took her for meat today.”

“Took her for meat? What does that mean?” I demanded.

“You know, took her for meat. I don’t know how else to say it, they butchered her.”

A feeling came over me like I had never experienced. “Butchered her! You-you mean they killed Mabell?” I cried, “how could they do that? She was my pet. I’ll never forgive them!”

“Okay. That’s enough! That is just the way it is. It is wintertime and we need food to eat.” Mama answered, letting me know the conversation was over.

I hated them! Daddy and granddaddy for killing Mabell and mama for telling me. I hated Hogeye, the 4-H, the county extension agency, Uncle Tom for taking me to get Mabell and though they had nothing at all to do with it, the Carl’s Tasty Sausage meat-packing plant over in Whitewright. I hated them all!

I moped around and pouted for weeks, but as is often the case, my hatred for the perpetrators of Mabell’s murder lessened as time passed. Besides, we had a new baby calf for me to look after. It was fun to feed and pet it, but Mabell was always in the back of my mind.

I never named the calf and although it would come up to me whenever I went into the pasture, I never allowed myself to get as attached to it as I had Mabell. I knew someday it would be gone, either sold or worse. I had learned the lesson of life and, yes, death on the farm. Mabell had taught me both.