Pig Heaven

The dogs throw themselves against the front door, tripping over each other like the Three Stooges.

It’s 9 PM, bedtime for this Bonzo, a week before Christmas.

Man, I think, this poor delivery guy is really running late. The folks in the brown vans toss boxes on my porch 2-3 times a day in this season. I do love me some Amazon.

Muttering bad words, I finally grab my bright pink robe and march to the front door. “There had better be something out there,” I warn the dogs. They continue barking. I don’t even think they notice me. They’ve fallen into a barking trance—like some weird cult that thinks it’s changing the world with chanting.

Pushing my vocal hounds aside, I yank open the door expecting to find a pile of boxes. For a moment, everything stops. The dogs freeze, I freeze and the javelina freezes, mid-chomp.

My feeble brain is having a hard time processing this Christmas tableau. Instead of Mary and Joseph, I have the remains of a Sees candy box, scattered bits of assorted chocolates, and a javelina with chocolate dripping from its jaws.

I can hear a voice at the back of my brain screaming Shut the door! Shut the door! Shut it NOW, you idiot!

Then with a tiny plop, a chunk of chocolate drops from the pig’s mouth onto the porch.

It’s as if someone hit the fast-forward button. I scream, the javelina screams, the dogs scream as I manage to slam the door shut.

It takes a few seconds for my brain to figure out someone delivered a box of Sees chocolate and didn’t close the courtyard gate. The pig wandered in and discovered piggy heaven.

(Yes, I know they are not technically pigs, but if looks like a duck and quacks like a duck . . .)

I pull the door open just a crack. Mr. Javelina roots through the box, bits of cardboard and chocolate flying. I wonder if he’s a mocha or a white chocolate fan. Does he prefer dark chocolate better than milk?

I let him finish his feast. It is the Christmas season, after all. He trots out the gate and I slam it shut, walking back to clean up smeared chocolate and scattered candy wrappers.

Three days later, the dogs are once more throwing themselves at the front door. I peek out and see the javelina butting his head against my gate. I know how he feels—a chocolate craving can make me slam my head against things, too.

It might be the season of giving, but I decide Santa has given the javelina enough chocolate. If any more comes, I’m keeping it for me.