Every once in a while, I think we need to give ourselves permission to be ridiculous.
Turn on the television and there is plenty to worry about. Open your phone and somebody somewhere is angry about something. Even the weather forecast occasionally sounds as though we should start gathering animals two by two.
So today, we are not solving any problems.
Today, we are going camping with a 300-pound pig named Harley.
Before we get to Harley, though, we need to settle an important question.
What Does H.O.G. Stand For?
That depends entirely upon whom you ask.
For members of the Harley Owners Group, the answer is obvious: Harley Owners Group.
For the rest of us, I believe there is room for interpretation.
Husbands Out Gallivanting.
That one seems entirely plausible.
Hold On, Grandma!
Depending upon who is driving, that may be less of a joke and more of a warning.
Hungry Old Guys.
I have attended enough gatherings to know there could already be a national organization operating under this name.
Highway Obsessed Grandpas.
Guilty as charged.
Home? Obviously Gone!
That could probably be printed across the back of our RV.
Then there is one that becomes increasingly appropriate with age:
Hips Occasionally Grumble.
And finally:
Heading Out, Goodbye!
I rather like that one.
If you can come up with a better meaning for H.O.G., put it in the comments below. There are no prizes, no judges and absolutely no standards.
Which brings us to Harley.
Meet Harley, Proprietor of H.O.G. Heaven
Harley was a 300-pound pig with expensive taste.
He was also the proud owner and general manager of H.O.G. Heaven Luxury RV Resort, a place so fancy that Harley insisted the word campground never appear in the advertising.
“We are a resort,” he would remind his employees.
Harley had standards.
H.O.G. Heaven offered enormous paved sites capable of handling the largest Class A motorhomes and fifth wheels. Every site had full hookups with 50/30/20-amp electrical service, water and sewer.
The premium sites included oversized patios, pergolas, outdoor kitchens, stone fireplaces and enough room for patio furniture that cost more than my first car.
The Wi-Fi actually worked.
That alone justified calling it a luxury resort.
Harley was particularly proud of the landscaping. Flowers were trimmed, grass was manicured and the wide paved roads remained spotless. He personally inspected the property every morning.
Well, almost every morning.
There was one area Harley tended to inspect more frequently than necessary.
The mud hole.
Peggy Pig McBride
Her name was Peggy Pig McBride.
Harley had noticed her the moment she arrived at H.O.G. Heaven.
Peggy wasn’t interested in the infinity pool.
She had no use for the fitness center.
She couldn’t have cared less about the pickleball courts.
And the resort’s bubbling hot tubs were, in her opinion, ridiculously small mud holes with entirely too much chlorine.
But that snout.
Oh, that snout.
Harley had traveled extensively in his younger days. He had met pigs from Michigan to Florida. He had encountered pink pigs, black pigs, spotted pigs, little pigs and pigs considerably larger than himself.
Never had Harley seen a snout like Peggy’s.
Perfectly rounded.
Slightly muddy.
Beautifully proportioned.
Harley was smitten.
Of course, he would never admit it.
He was, after all, a respected businessman.
Trouble at Site 47
One afternoon, Peggy discovered a particularly magnificent mud hole near Site 47.
Technically, it wasn’t supposed to be there.
A sprinkler line had developed a small leak beside the trailer steps, creating a puddle approximately six feet across.
To a human, it was a maintenance problem.
To Peggy, it was the spa.
She eased herself into the mud and rolled onto her side.
Harley happened to be passing by.
He stopped.
Peggy rolled over.
Harley stared.
Peggy looked at him.
Harley looked at Peggy.
Neither said anything.
She rolled again.
Harley took one step closer.
Then another.
Perhaps Harley intended to warn her that guests were not permitted to wallow beside occupied campsites.
Perhaps he intended to explain the resort’s strict policies concerning unauthorized recreational mud.
Perhaps he simply wanted a closer look at that snout.
We will never know.
Because Harley slipped.
Three hundred pounds of successful RV-resort entrepreneur went sliding down the muddy bank.
SPLASH!
Harley landed directly beside Peggy.
There was a moment of silence.
Peggy looked at Harley.
Harley looked at Peggy.
Mud dripped from one ear.
“So,” Peggy finally asked, “come here often?”
Harley’s dignity was gone.
His reputation was questionable.
And he had never been happier.
Meanwhile, Back at H.O.G. Heaven…
The humans continued enjoying the resort.
Someone was floating peacefully around the lazy river.
Another couple was sitting beneath their pergola enjoying the afternoon.
The pickleball courts were busy.
Guests relaxed beside the heated pool while others enjoyed the adult-only section and cabanas.
Over at the clubhouse, people gathered around the stone fireplace, while a few guests contemplated dinner at the resort restaurant.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned that the owner was lying in six inches of mud beside Site 47.
The maintenance crew certainly wasn’t.
They had been watching from a golf cart.
One employee finally looked at the other and said, “Should we help him?”
“Nope.”
“Should we fix the sprinkler?”
“Tomorrow.”
There are moments in life you simply shouldn’t interrupt.
The H.O.G. Heaven Mud Hole
By the following morning, Harley had made an executive decision.
The mud hole would stay.
He called an emergency staff meeting.
“We need another amenity,” he announced.
The recreation manager looked confused.
“We already have pickleball, bocce ball, basketball, a putting green, swimming pools, a lazy river and a fitness center.”
Harley nodded.
“Exactly.”
Nobody understood what that meant.
Harley unveiled the newest addition to H.O.G. Heaven:
The Executive Wallowing Experience
It was immediately added to the resort brochure.
No reservations required.
No swimsuit necessary.
Towels definitely not provided.
The dog-wash station, however, was conveniently located nearby.
Peggy received a lifetime membership.
Around the Campfire
Would we actually stay at H.O.G. Heaven?
Absolutely.
Large paved sites, full hookups, reliable Wi-Fi, wide roads and enough room for our fifth wheel already sound pretty good. Throw in a nice patio, pool, restaurant and a little friendly campground humor, and we could probably settle in quite comfortably.
I might even try pickleball.
I am drawing the line at the mud hole.
Would Cash be allowed?
Certainly. H.O.G. Heaven has a large fenced dog park and enclosed dog-wash stations.
Although Cash would need to stay away from Peggy.
She has a reputation.
What about Harley?
Harley still makes his rounds every morning.
He checks the paved sites.
He inspects the hookups.
He examines the landscaping.
He makes sure the Wi-Fi is working.
Then, purely in his official capacity as resort owner, he walks down to the mud hole to see whether Peggy happens to be there.
She usually is.
Final Thoughts
There is absolutely no lesson in today’s story.
Harley isn’t a metaphor for anything.
Peggy doesn’t represent some deeper truth about life.
H.O.G. Heaven does not exist, and I am fairly confident there isn’t a 300-pound pig somewhere running an upscale RV resort.
This story is completely fictional.
And that is precisely the point.
Sometimes we need a story that doesn’t teach us how to maintain an RV, tell us where to travel next or remind us about something we forgot to pack.
Sometimes it is enough to laugh.
The world will still have its problems when we’re finished.
For a few minutes, though, we can picture Harley—the proud owner of one of the finest RV resorts anywhere—lying flat on his belly in a mud hole because Peggy Pig McBride had the most beautiful snout he had ever seen.
Come to think of it, maybe there is a lesson here.
No matter how fancy the resort…
a hog is still a hog.
And apparently, H.O.G. can also stand for:
Harley Obviously Got-her.
Okay, that one was terrible.
Your turn.
What does H.O.G. stand for in your world? Leave your most ridiculous answer in the comments.
The Cooper Shortcut Camping Journey Trio 😊 PlusOne!
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:
Leave a Reply