“Well, doc,” he says, “Christmas is coming up, and a few months ago my wife and I selected a piglet for us to fatten up for Christmas dinner, and I’ve been given that young fellow special rations to get him into proper shape, and I was just about to give him his lunch today and my wife poked her head out the door and said something, and I turned round to ask what she said, and that danged pig shoved his snout through the fence an’ bit me on the leg.”
The medic shook his head ruefully and commenced dressing the injuries, and duly wrote up the incident in his notes.
A week or so later the farmer was back with a series of bites on his buttocks, and the doc queried him as to the cause. “Well,” says the man of the soil, “I was standing up on the fence of the pigsty getting ready to give our special little pig his eats, when the new Avon Lady called round, you know, the good looking blonde who wears the low cut blouses, and I was just admiring the view when I lost my balance and fell. I just managed to stop myself from falling right on my back, and as I was scrambling back over the fence, that pig done bit me on the backside.”
The farmer departed with his new wounds cleaned and bound and the doctor made a further entry in his medical notes.
A week later, the farmer came in great gashes down his arms and his shirtsleeves in shreds.
“Right”, said the doc. “What’s happened?”
“Well,” said the farmer, “You know that pig …”
The GP sighed heavily, picked up his pen to commence writing, and said, “Okay, you don’t need to explain, I know, you were feeding the ham that bites you”.