Barbara Wood's Dispatches from the Home Front: Tripped up by a rampaging pig Barbara Wood's Dispatches from the Home Front: Tripped up by a rampaging pig (August 17, 2005)

There I was -- with my arm in a splint and sling for a fractured elbow and what hurt worse than my arm was the fact that the story I had to tell about it was so, well, lame.

And everyone, of course, wanted to know the story.

I had tripped over my own shoelaces.

The context was good. My husband, Dan, and I were playing softball against last year's league champions whose average age was at least 10 years below our average age. We were also short one woman, which meant we had to play down one outfielder and were extremely limited as to what positions our three women could play.

But by some miracle we had not been behind for the entire game. I was trying hard not to be nervous and kept teasing one of our opponents about being so serious about something that is, after all, supposed to be fun.

So, after I ran on a hit that turned out to be a foul ball I did a little dance in the baseline as I headed back to bat again.

At which point, the cleats on my right shoe caught in the laces of my left shoe and I tripped, landing face-down in the dirt with my arms straight out. I sat there for a moment and then got up, went back and batted. I got a rather nice hit, and ended up scoring. Then I played two innings at first base, without messing up.

We won by one run, which left me screaming in disbelief.

Then I went home and took an anti-inflammatory and put ice on both elbows. It hurt. The next day, in addition to hurting, I couldn't bend or straighten one elbow fully. Since we were about to go camping for a week, I decided to visit the doctor. When she said it was broken I was surprised, although it did give me a good excuse for not putting up the tent.

After a week of one-armed camping, I returned to the orthopedist, who told me I could do without the splint and sling as long as I didn't "do anything that would cause me to fall." He specifically outlawed softball.

But he didn't tell me not to feed my daughter's pigs while she was at an amusement park.

And it was then I came up with a really good story. As twilight neared, one of the pigs, apparently believing I was going to take its food, charged toward me. It ran between my legs. My shoes popped off and I found myself riding backwards, barefoot, on a 200-pound rampaging pig. After a few yards I was tossed onto my butt in the dirt, fell backwards and cracked my head into the ground.

I was dazed and more than a little shaken, but didn't even need ice when I got home.

But I am a little disappointed I don't have that splint and sling anymore, when I finally have a good story to tell.
Barbara Wood lives in Woodside in an old house filled with redheads and animals. Her column runs the third week of the month.

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