ARE YOU READY?” Kate and Jane stood by, just off to one side of the barn and slightly uphill—a direction in which Chris was unlikely to run. “OK!” they answered. “Ready!” The girls knew the drill. By Christopher’s second year, we had perfected the Running of the Pig. We’d done this nearly every day that the sky had shown the least hint of sunshine and the ground was clear of snow. By now, it was a regular ritual, and its smooth operation depended on the girls’ well-honed execution of their tasks. One: Slops Standby. I would carry the heavy bucket, but at least one of the girls—usually both—stood ready with a particularly delectable item, such as a blueberry muffin or a bagel, with which to steer Chris if he went off course. Two: Wardrobe Management. Christopher had outgrown the extra-large dog harness, and now dressed for dinner in a more elaborate contraption we had to put on him after he exited the pen. It was an amalgam of previous outfits. At one point he’d worn a harness that we’d had custom-made by a manufacturer of spelunking gear, generously procured by Maggie and Graham’s daughter, Emily, who was dating a caver.
