My second offering! A tale of an elderly and eccentric uncle.

                                                               Angus

There are several tales about my Uncle Jimmy who closely followed the family tradition of eccentricity. Some aspects of this behaviour might have stemmed from having been brought up in a Scottish farming community where a journey even to the next village involved several days of careful planning. I prefer to believe that having experienced at first hand the terrible conditions of trench warfare in the Great War, he disassociated himself from the modern world and retreated to a life of idyllic simplicity. 

Strolling in a leisurely manner around his farm, he would take comfort from the sight of his small herd of Aberdeen Angus bullocks as they devoured the rich grass. Occasionally, puffing furiously on his pipe, he was inclined to poke at the animals with the walking stick which he carried, nodding with satisfaction at the fine condition of the beasts. On these tours of inspection, he was always accompanied by his faithful collie, the latest in a succession of collies, all of whom had been named ‘Mike’. His other constant companion was six year old Angus. 

 Every Friday evening, Jimmy would don his coat and scarf, scrape the majority of the mud from his Wellingtons and set off to walk the three miles to the hotel. Although he was a practiced and competent drinker, the demon drink generally left him more than slightly inconvenienced and the return home frequently involved unintentional excursions into the ditch. The Presbyterian minister was fond of recalling a conversation that had taken place one fine summer evening when he encountered Jimmy staggering back to the farm, clearly much the worse for wear and obviously having directional difficulties. 
“Good evening James,” he said. 
“Weel, meenister” (Good evening Reverend) replied Jimmy, having struggled to bring the man into focus. 
“Have you been visiting friends, James?” 
“Jus’ been tae the hotel fer a wee dram” (I have been to the hotel for a small drink) 
“And now, you are heading home?” Jimmy hiccoughed loudly and grabbed the grass verge for support. 
“Aye, sometimes.” 

On one occasion, he was persuaded to let Angus accompany him on a Friday foray. Although Angus would follow Jimmy around the farm and never let him out of sight, Jimmy was concerned in case the youngster might become alarmed at being so far from home. He attached a length of binder twine to Angus and the trio set off towards the village. The sight of a man accompanied by a dog is commonplace, but when they are joined by a fairly substantial and friendly pig, the sight is fairly unusual. Angus was clearly delighted with this new game and snuffled and squealed as he encountered new and unfamiliar smells. 

 Some ninety minutes later, the somewhat disheveled party arrived at the hotel. Angus had discovered some fresh cowpats on the road and had been totally unable to resist the temptation to roll in it despite Jimmy’s best efforts to restrain him. A thorough drenching in the stream had removed most of the offensive odour but had left Jimmy and Mike looking rather battered. 

The usual crowd welcomed them with uproarious laughter but, as they were all sons of the soil, soon accepted the pig as a welcome customer. The well intentioned landlord produced a basin filled with beer dregs and set it on the floor for the animal’s inspection. Angus sniffed suspiciously at the basin then took a tentative slurp. Unsurprisingly, he discovered that the strange mixture was to his liking and quickly emptied the basin to the cheers and encouragement of the crowd. The basin was refilled several times during the course of the evening and Angus dutifully obliged by emptying it, apparently with no ill effect. Eventually, Jimmy produced a watch from his pocket and decided that it was time they set off for home. The watch had served him well for many years although the hour hand had disappeared at some point. He knew, of course that it was ten minutes past something, but the exact hour eluded him. With Angus in tow and Mike bringing up the rear, the trio stumbled from the bar and headed homewards. 

As they staggered along the road, Jimmy treated his animal entourage to a selection of half remembered and probably better forgotten songs that he had learned in the army. Angus trotted solemnly beside him, no longer snuffling and no longer squealing. His pace became more and more leisurely until at last the need to lie down for a little nap overcame him. Instead of settling down on the grass at the roadside, he simply slumped into an untidy heap in the middle of the road and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Nothing my uncle could do had any effect on the slumbering pig. Even his best army obscenities, delivered in the voice of a Sergeant Major failed to rouse Angus. Vigorous prodding with his walking stick and Mike’s excited barking were equally ineffective. Even to one as sober as a judge, this scenario would present a problem. Obviously, he could not just abandon Angus but neither could he work out any method by which an unconscious porker weighing some fourteen stones and drunk as a lord might be transferred the remaining mile home. 

Jimmy’s befuddled brain finally slipped into gear. Rummaging around in his coat pockets, he found a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. He scrawled a message and, assuming that the binder twine was unlikely to be of further use, he used it to attach the note to Mike’s collar. 
“Home, Mike. Get Janet.” The dog looked at him curiously. 
“Mike! Away home. Get Janet!” Mike barked a brief acknowledgement and ran off into the night. Jimmy decided to make himself comfortable whilst he waited and settled down on the road with his head resting on the pig’s side, wrapped his coat around himself and dozed off. 

Some time later, at twenty-five past something, he was rudely awakened by the dulcet tones of my Aunt Janet, screaming abuse at the slumbering pair. Jimmy, even in his alcoholic stupor realised that he was in bad trouble. 
“Ye drunken auld fool!” she shouted. “When I saw yer note, I didnae know whit tae think. ‘Bring barrow’ indeed. Where was I supposed to bring it? That dog has got twice as much brain as you, ye idiot. I had to tell him to find you. What in the name of Creation possessed ye tae take a pig oot tae the pub?” 
“Ach Janet, even a pig has tae have some fun sometimes. Gie’s a hand to get him into the barrow.” 
Together they managed to load Angus into the barrow and, not without some difficulty, trundled him home with Janet’s tirades ringing in Jimmy’s ears. 

Happily, Angus suffered no ill effects from his night out, but now that he had acquired a taste for beer worse was to come. On the occasion of Jimmy’s seventieth birthday, Janet planned a get-together of the family and friends at the farmhouse. The long kitchen table groaned under the weight of home-made scones, cold ham, cheese, salted herring, oat cakes and countless shapes and varieties of Janet’s home baking. As the evening progressed, an impromptu orchestra was set up consisting of bagpipes, an accordion, fiddles, a mouth organ and various kitchen utensils pressed into service as percussion instruments.

The dancing grew more and more frenzied and, as the evening was warm, the kitchen door was left open. Attracted by the noise and the unmistakable scent of beer, Angus pushed his way into the house. Sniffing hopefully around the floor, he soon tracked the source of the smell. Yes, there it was. It was contained in a large milk churn in the dairy adjoining the kitchen. Even better, it was at floor level. Angus poked his huge head into the churn and started drinking. When he had drunk as far down the vessel as he was able, he tipped it over and very soon was licking up the last dregs from the dairy floor. Somewhat bemused, he looked around and sniffed the air. There was more somewhere. His unerring sense of smell told him that there was a similar churn in the kitchen. Overjoyed, he charged through the room, scattering musicians and dancers in his wake. Totally oblivious to the screams of frightened women and to my uncle’s earnest entreaties, he followed his nose towards his goal. When he reached the churn, nobody could stop the determined pig as he drank greedily. At last, he had his fill, grunted happily, staggered into the table and knocking the contents to the floor. According to Jimmy, he gazed blearily around the room, smiled happily, laid down on the floor and fell asleep. Apparently the party continued unabated and the dancers treated the sleeping Angus as an obstacle to be negotiated. On occasions thereafter, the pig made many visits to the pub where he enjoyed the admiration of a wide circle of drinkers who were more than happy to keep both Jimmy and Angus in beer for the evening and many tried and failed to drink a pint faster than the pig. For the record, there was always a wheelbarrow provided although on more than one occasion, the returning occupant was Uncle Jimmy, wheeled by a sympathetic friend. 

Some clerics and many doctors of medicine would have us believe that consumption of alcohol is a certain way to ruin. I can say, however, that a fondness for the fine brown brew was entirely responsible for the fact that Angus survived to a ripe old age and was never in any danger of featuring on the family menu.