Something About Calvin

            Creating a character simply because . . .

Calvin had three loves – his one hundred pound, pot-bellied pig, Chopper, his gun collection, and speed. Chopper was the third potbelly Calvin had owned, each of the other two having lived out a normal life under his attentive care. All three had been named Chopper. Calvin said it was easier that way. New names confused his mother who had lived with him his whole life. The current pig was grey and white, its enormous stomach nearly dragging on the floor as it circled the kitchen of Calvin’s house or when it wandered, squealing toward Bertha, his mother, who constantly fed the animal bits of food she stored in the pocket of her apron. Chopper was smart. He manipulated the household.

No one was able to get too close to Calvin’s place either, because Chopper, a humongous male, spent a great deal of time rooting up the front yard and issuing a barking sound that warned if someone came near.

 “Why he’s as good as any watch dog,” Calvin bragged and was probably correct. One look at the pig’s mud-encrusted nose nudging the front gate of the property was enough to keep any would-be visitor at bay.

Calvin spent hours perched in a rocking chair on his front porch, watching Chopper go about his business, all the while polishing his guns and daring anyone to venture into the yard. Seems it was the only power Calvin gleaned over anyone or anything else for that matter, aside from his old, rusty, pickup that he drove like a maniac all over the county. When Calvin was on the road, folks stayed clear.