While trying to impress my young mother, my then young father took a hammer in his hand and aimed it between the eyes of a hog. They killed them, cut them, and cooked them on their land. His uncles nudged him on, gave him the honors. But you gotta hit it between the eyes because if you don’t, like he didn’t, the beast will shake its hooves, look you square in the eyes, as to say you missed. It chased him through the yard, the uncles rolling on the dirt laughing, my young mother amused and probably charmed. After a lap or two, an uncle picks up the hammer and as my young father runs past him, he cracks the hog’s skull for dinner.