What's with the name?

When I was around six or seven years old, I was helping my dad and grandpa on the farm. It was a typical sunny/hot/windy South Dakota day and we spent it sorting hogs. Not Harleys - pigs. Big pigs.

For the first time that I could remember, dad entrusted me to the main gate of the pig pen while he went to get the trailer so we could bring them to town. After about five minutes of distracting myself by playing in the dirt, I looked up from my kneeling position to watch two stressed-out sows squeal and attack eachother. This proceeded for a few long moments before they broke into a very cumbersome gallop in my direction. I reeled in horror as I realized that I had forgotten to close the gate. The gate! I was immediately nothing. Two dusty 500 lb. bodies flew past me on both sides, and I froze in terror. For a very juvenile farm boy, this was a nightmare, and I still dream about it.

After my heart started about 5 seconds later, I sprinted to the house to notify grandma as the two sows toured the farm. What followed that was a blur of men chasing pigs with profanity and red faces. I cried very hard that day while realizing two important things:

1. I was not going to be a farmer when I grew up. and
2. I have the most loving and forgiving family in the world.

Thanks for reading.
- John