The pancakes were on the table, and our little family of three was about to dive into breakfast. As I poured maple syrup over my pancakes, our 2-year-old daughter, Jean, leapt from her chair. “Mama, Mama … Pigs!” she yelled, making oinking noises in her little girl’s voice. She pointed out the window to our wooded backyard.
Now I leapt from my chair. In anger I slammed down my fork and grabbed the truck keys. “Wait for me,” my husband, Mark, bellowed as he wrestled with his boots and jumped up to follow me out the door. “Stay on the porch,” I told Jean, as Mark and I hopped in the pickup and drove it recklessly around the yard. We honked and screamed as we chased the pigs off our…