Butcherin’ time came early to Saskatoon that year. Everybody pitched in, as the folks of the town always did. Planting and tending to the new crops was put on hold. All hands were bent to the task of preparin’ one mighty harvest of chops and bacon and pork belly. Every bit of Finnegan’s pig was salted or dried or smoked and stored away so the folks of Saskatoon could enjoy the savor of bacon for years to come. And wouldn’t you know, once they had laid away enough to last for seven years they sold off the rest to folks passing through. Soon there was enough money for Baker to replant his orchard and for the rest of the folks who’d lost their crops to replant, too.
On the profits of Finnegan’s pig, Saskatoon started attracting more settlers until it was near as big and booming as Regina. And each and every person who settled in Saskatoon was as kind as the rest, so the town was known all over Canada for bein’ a haven of hospitality and ham. Life was good in Saskatoon.
The church was rebuilt before autumn came in the same year the devil pig was butchered. It was a grand and lovely church, but not too grand or lovely, for now all the folks of Saskatoon knew right down to their bones the dangers of being over-proud. In a nook near the altar were laid a felt hat and a fancy tweed coat, which were found during the butchering of Finnegan’s pig. They were laid out to remind all the town’s good folks of the follies of greed and sloth. And the reminder seemed to work, too—no more devil-pigs have terrorized the town from that day to this.
If you know which church to look in, you can see the coat and hat yourself the next time you’re in Saskatoon.
A Note on Finnegan's Pig
Some years ago, when I had just begun to take my writing seriously, I joined up at an online writing forum that offered weekly timed challenges to hone writers' creative skills. The idea was that we'd all log on and view a “trigger” – a picture, a snippet of prose, or song lyrics – and, racing against the web site's timer, we would have 90 minutes to complete a short story inspired by the week's trigger.
This was a fantastic exercise that I found extremely valuable. However, the real draw to me, as I am an obnoxiously competitive person by nature (one of my many character flaws), was the fact that this writing exercise was also a contest. The weekly winner got to choose the next trigger, and boy, were there ever some stumpers.
The day I wrote Finnegan's Pig, I logged on to see a photo of a church's reader board. Some prankster had re-arranged its letters so that its message read: “Giant Pig Eats Jesus.” I sat dumbstruck for a couple of precious minutes while the timer ticked away. I considered crying “uncle” that week and giving up, but as I was about to walk away from my computer and go make a sandwich, I conceived of a circumstance under which a giant pig could, in fact, eat Jesus.
It seemed to write itself (an experience I have seldom enjoyed since that day, alas), and well under the 90-minute deadline, I completed this story. I am a very fast typist. I am pleased to say that I won that week's contest (there weren't a lot of entries – most of my friends opted for the sandwich) and Finnegan's Pig went on to be the first piece of writing I ever sold to a paying market. It appeared in the magazine The Town Drunk in April of 2009. It remains one of my favorites.
I hope you enjoyed it, too.
Libbie Hawker
Seattle, WA 2012
Other Works by This Author
Novels:
Baptism for the Dead
Tin Moan (forthcoming)
Short Fiction:
A Light in the Merced River
Schrodinger's Kitty
Writing as Lavender Ironside:
The She-King Trilogy:
The Sekhmet Bed, Book One
The Crook and Flail, Book Two (forthcoming)
About the Author
Libbie Hawker was born in Rexburg, Idaho and grew up dividing her time between the Puget Sound area and the rural vicinities surrounding Rexburg. She is passionate about the American West and strives to make her love for its unique landscapes, atmospheres, and people evident in her writing. Libbie can be found online at https://libbiehawker.blogspot.com. She also writes historical fiction under the pen name Lavender Ironside.
Libbie welcomes comments of all kinds from readers at [email protected].
Finnegan's Pig, Or How Saskatoon Got Bacon for Seven Years: A Cautionary Tale (Short Story) Page 2