The three-legged pig

Friends munched on pork sandwiches and thought about getting pork chops at the bonfire Saturday night so I figured it was the perfect time to tell a joke that my daughter, Jennifer, had told me not long ago. I began retelling it, then realized I didn’t remember all of it. My friends were soon amused though, not by the joke, but by my struggles.

In an effort to recoup some dignity, I consulted my source, and offer this now, to complete the record.

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A man walks into a bar with a three-legged pig.

“I’ll have a beer,” he says. “And one for my pig.”

“Well,” says the bartender, “You can have a beer but we don’t serve pigs here.”

“Oh, but this is a special pig. He saved my life. I was pinned under my tractor and he jumped into the seat, put it in reverse and backed it off of me. He saved my life, and he saved my family too. They were in a burning house, he found a hose then ran inside and got everyone out. If it wasn’t for him, they were goners. He saved all of their lives.”

“Well alright,” says the bartender. “I will serve your pig a beer. But first you have to tell me one thing,” he said, looking at the pig. “Why does he only have three legs?”

“Oh that,” says the man. “This is a very special pig. A pig like that you just don’t eat all at once.”