How about a nap in a pig barn?

Betsy and Beulah, Wyatt's pigs, 2019

The pig barn at the Harford Fair exudes comfort.

At least it does if you've spent four hours walking the fairgrounds. Move over, Betsy and Beulah. Make way for my weary piggies.

Wyatt, Harford Fair, 2019

My grandsons, Wyatt and Mack, have been raising pigs and/or goats for about five years, so I make annual pilgrimages to the fair's pig barn to enjoy the fun of the show.

Pig barn living at the fair is not what I expected. My vision of pig barns is based solely on Charlotte's Web where sweet Charlotte goes to extreme lengths in her webs to keep her friend Wilbur from getting to the fair. Her attempts to derail Wilbur's trip to the fair certainly weren't because of the accommodations.

Sadee at the goat show, 2018

The 4-H children at the fair who maintain the stalls and their animals do an immaculate job. The floors are thick with fresh hay, shoveled out regularly. The bovines recline like hairy mountains, oblivious of the crowds about them, swishing their tails to ward off flies like fat dowagers on a Carolina veranda while emitting ear-splitting squeals if they happen to cross each other's personal space. The pens are even decorated with posters for the competition, bearing the name of the owner, the farm, the pigs' names, and the multi-colored ribbons indicating their prize position. Feng shui even in the pig pen. We congregate around the Gadsden Ridge Farm stall. It's family.

But the real fun is in the ring. The actual show is more interesting than most television sit-coms. The pigs have been hosed down and shined up for their appearance before the judges, and the kids, likewise, wear their best jeans, often a plaid shirt, and sometimes a pair of boots that cost more than a Weber grill.

And bling is the thing ... even in the pig barn. Many of the competitors, kids not pigs, wear wide Western belts embedded with turquoise, crystals, and colorful gems. Some wear flashy necklaces, drawing more attention to the showman than the pig, a good ploy if they have trouble controlling their wayward charges.

The plan is to walk your pig in a circle or a figure eight using a guide whip to gently tap the pig while simultaneously keeping your eyes on the judge with a smile on your face. Something like patting your head and rubbing your tummy ... not so easy. The judge floats around the ring with a clipboard giving points to the showman for poise, posture, control, and personality and to the pig for shoulder width, leg distance, back length, and butt configuration. Muscle vs. fat becomes an issue to which both the hogs and I can relate.

With strength and determination of their own, those pigs become a heavyweight challenge for the strongest-willed teenager. One pig heads for the exit shoot, another refuses to move, one skirts the edge declining to come out in the middle, another wants to run at break-neck speed ... anywhere but here. It's a comedy of errors, and glory goes to the kid who can hold the judge's eye, direct his/her pig, demonstrate control, and keep on smiling.

Considering the comfortable pens, the showy affair, and the bling, the Prodigal Son might never have returned home. His story, like the pigs, might have had a tragic ending.

But most of the hogs who enter the ring through those narrow gates are headed to the auction block by the end of the week to provide hundreds of pounds of chops, ribs, roasts, and bacon. And this would be the reason Charlotte sacrificed her life to save her friend Wilbur.

The pig analogy could also apply to us. Everything that looks good, feels comfortable, and shows well may not be the best thing for us.

"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it, but small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it." 

Matthew 7:13-14

A sacrifice has been made for us as well. We don't have to be led by the trainer's whip. Unlike the pigs, we can make the choice to follow The Way, God's Way, and avoid destruction. 

The last thing we want to do is fall into lethargy and take a nap in the pig sty when the end looms.