Blove Affair With A Hog Poem by Barry A. Lanier

Once upon a time, long ago, I'd follow in the footsteps of my father.
When the heat of summer comes in full force, and the sun slowly rises
as the dew subsides, we would visit the hogs to inspect them.

Following his every move, and in his footsteps, toward the hog pen.
Not exactly a pen, but staggered pines and scrub oaks held together
by thrown away fence wire. Like a jigsaw puzzle held together with
haywire, pieces of boards nailed together, yet it held the precious
hogs inside.
While he would call them, souie! souie! , I would sit under
a resurrected pine. A barkless spectre, one that had been killed one
day by lightning, along with three hogs. Dad summoning the anxious
herd, his tone as eloquent as if he were courting an English maiden.

They all came running up to him, happy and excited, as if he had a
spell over them. Calling them by name, they would calm down and
nudge the leg of his pants. Such love, such devotion, such compassion
I witnessed as a young lad, wondering why couldn't people act this way.

Driving back home, I asked Dad, 'remember Dad you were going to tell me about love and all of that? ' He said, 'Son, what you just seen back there in the hog pen is what love is all about! '. I'm still thinking on
that one.