It's a pig's life
by Mad Dog

    First there was the pig which flew first class from Philadelphia to Seattle on US Airways back in October. At first glance this isn’t unusual, since I’ve sat next to quite a few pigs while flying. In fact, the airlines’ ticketing computers are programmed to seat them next to me. If no pigs have bought tickets, it searches for colicky babies with a certified wail louder than 120 dB, women hauling eight photo albums of their grandchildren which they’re certain I want to see, and dudes listening to headphones that are louder than the sound in a movie theater. If none of these are available, it automatically cancels the flight and puts me on the next available one which makes four stops rather than being direct.

    The two women who brought the pig on board the US Airways flight somehow managed to convince the airline that the pig was a “therapeutic companion pet,” similar to a blind person’s seeing-eye dog and Richard Gere’s gerbil. Even though they claimed they had a doctor’s note, it’s hard to figure out what he could have written that would fool anyone. “These women have a pathological need to be close to the only squealing 300-pound animal which isn’t playing for the XFL” just doesn’t seem like it would pass muster. Not even with a flight attendant.

    I’ve never flown first class, and it doesn’t do my self-esteem a lot of good to think that an animal that’s better suited to being Easter dinner is being treated better than I am. Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated case. Recently a 150-pound Vietnamese potbelly pig named Smithfield stayed in the Mayflower Hotel in New York. I haven’t stayed there, but I strongly suspect it’s a nice place since for years I’ve heard announcers say at the end of TV shows, “Guests of the show stay at the Mayflower Hotel,” and I don’t think they’d put them up in a place where they ask if you need the room for longer than an hour and have a vending machine on each floor which sells cans of Raid. You know, like the ones I’m used to.

    Smithfield was in New York City because he appeared on “Live! With Regis and Kelly.” He was there to audition as Kathie Lee’s replacement, not realizing that the job had already been filled. Just to show that he wasn’t a sore loser, he went on the show and ran through his tricks. He turned around on command, stuck out his tongue, rang a bell, and painted a porcine masterpiece.

    His owners treat him awfully well. He had a babysitter until he was eight months old, he sleeps on the floor of the den, and he gets a hoof manicure every three months. It’s true I had babysitters from time to time. And yes, I slept in a bed. But I’ve never had a manicure. Of course, to be honest I never wanted one. Until now. And that’s what scares me. Something tells me it’s not a good sign to find myself wanting to “Keep up with the pigs.”

    I know it’s not healthy to be jealous of pigs. And I’m not, really. Even though some of them get to fly first class and stay in fancy hotels while I don’t, most of them still end up on sandwiches with Swiss cheese and mustard. And while some people think pigs are better than humans—after all, they’ve never started a war, destroyed the environment (unlike cows which release methane gas), or perpetrated crimes against humanity like airing ”The Mole”— they’re still pigs. But that doesn’t mean I want them sitting next to me on an airplane or snorting around the next room at a hotel. Though I will say it’s probably better than another colicky baby with a 120 dB wail.   

©2001 Mad Dog Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
These columns appear in better newspapers across the country. Read them before the pigs do.