It’s time to show the pigs we weren’t supposed to name. Today is their big day to strut their stuff. They don’t seem nervous, or maybe they’re just playing it cool. Their handlers are another story.

Carters have shown horses for quite a while. We know what to do, mostly, and what to expect, sometimes.

There was a brief foray into goat showing – but the Carter kids (human and goat) decided that wasn’t their particular cup of tea, for various and somewhat unclear reasons. I think the biggest issue stemmed from the fact that the goats didn’t hit the ground knowing how to lead. It never occurred to either kid (human) that the horses they’d shown in the past didn’t come from the manufacturer knowing that stuff either. It’s just that they didn’t have to do any of the assembling. My children don’t seem to like surprises.

After weeks of stumbling around the yard bleating in protest, all four kids went to the stock show, stumbled and bleated around the ring, took their ribbons and goat leads, and went home, never to grace the goat ring again. Nothing really horrible happened, but nothing life-changing, either.

There was also the heifer that Zeke raised and showed – only show calf I ever saw munching contentedly on her hay while she sat comfortably in the straw. Yes, that’s what I said – sat – like a dog. We have pictures.

Her name was Dixie, and there was no doubt she was a Carter cow.

She was our introduction to Carter nerves run amuck. I thought she handled her first trip to town with grace and aplomb when we took her to the county fair. We hauled her in the horse trailer, unloaded her and tied her to the trailer, just like we do the horses. She stood patiently while Zeke, whom she seemed to adore, traded out her everyday halter for her fancy show halter. Ignorance really is bliss.

We didn’t realize until we were in the midst of the rest of the calves that had never been to town that it’s not an ordinary occurrence to tie your calf to the horse trailer and then have it stand patiently with no halter at all while its kid drops the show halter on the ground, casually lets go of the calf to pick it up and untangle it, and then takes 15 minutes to put it on. What’s that old saying about children and fools?

Show day arrived, and as Dixie’s class approached, Zeke gathered her up from her sitting position in the barn, put the finishing touches on hair and nails, and headed for the show barn. He had an undeniably humiliated look on his face, and he kept firing deadly glares at the unsuspecting Dixie, who was plodding patiently and compliantly along beside him.

What’s wrong? I couldn’t imagine what could have happened in the few minutes it had taken him to bring her to the ring, but I did notice he looked unusually tense.

“She’s MOOING!” He shouted, as if that explained it all.

I was lost.

What?

Exasperated sigh.

“She is MOO–ING,” he ground out. Son, she’s a cow, and none of her regular cow buddies are here. She’s a little insecure, what did you expect?

By the time I finally realized it was mostly nerves that was making him totally irrational, it was time for their grand entrance.

She followed him in like she’d been doing so for years and only mooed a couple of times, but it didn’t help her case. She was no longer his favorite cow, even though she won her class, albeit a class of one, and took home the reserve grand breed champion.

His dad never did really grasp the whole nerve issue, so there was a bit of a communication meltdown that went on for quite some time, but everyone survived and Zeke and Dixie continued their show career into the next spring with the junior livestock show. She mooed some more, but not as much, and Zeke was ready for her this time.

So, that brings us to Rooty and Snoopy, 215 and 265 respective pounds of show- stopping pork.

I say show-stopping because the first time they hit the show ring, which was in practice form when a school that was having its local show graciously allowed Rooty and Snoopy to crash their party on an exhibition-only basis, they went into the ring, found a corner, and stopped.

This was a surprise, because when they’d gone into the ring alone before the show, they’d made tracks like they were headed to Remington Park. Snoopy even bucked a little. Zoey was concerned. Zeke just shook his head.

Their dad has some experience showing pigs, so he’s been the go-to guy. I’ve been the go-away mom. If you can’t put a halter on it, I don’t know what to do with it, so I just stay out of the way and mumble ‘good job,’ every now and again.

I have learned a few things by observation, though. One – do not wave a show stick at a sprinting pig. Two – chasing a sprinting pig is a dead give-away you’re a first-timer. They’re not endurance animals. Three – a show ring corner is a prime pig parking spot. They gather and talk about their respective kids.

There were some nerves, characterized by dirty looks and hateful huffs, and the kids were a little cranky, too, but everybody mostly survived the practice show.

Zoey learned not to chase her pig, and Zeke learned his porker is a prime parker – but at least he wasn’t mooing.