There's a Boar at Our Door!
'Twas the night after Christmas when a car pulled up.
Its arrival was unsettling and surprisingly abrupt.
We weren't yet in our PJs but we had settled in,
Not expecting any sort of exchange to begin.
Away to the front door we flew like a flash,
As the fire burned brightly, turning wood to ash.
We donned our masks to be safe and polite
And stepped onto the porch to face the cold night.
Out of the car stepped a man in a hat
Who we didn't know, but we're accustomed to that.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his trunk,
Retrieving a bag that contained a big chunk.
It was a plastic bag, white, and bloodied inside.
Had this happened in LA, we would have cried
Knowing we were about to be butchered. But here?
Wendy thanked him and said "C'est pas necessaire."
But the hunter insisted, wanting to share
The fresh leg and shoulder he had in there.
So we thanked him and proceeded to bring it inside
Wondering how to do justice to this boar who had died.
We could not simply freeze it; it was much too large,
So Wendy took her leave, and I took charge.
I cleaned our white table, drew the chunk from the bag,
And cut it to pieces, trying not to gag.
I have a strong stomach but am not used to this yet,
Still I want to do justice to the gifts we get.
So I made some piles: ours, the dogs, and lard,
And completed my work even though it was hard.
Now we have half a kilo of frozen meat,
Perhaps for a special taco night treat,
And a rack of dried boar for each little mutt
Along with some lard for who knows what.
I must work on de-boning, my knife skills, my render,
On prepping, preserving, on drying, and remember
That next year I must, I MUST be sure,
To be better prepared for the boar at the door!