I shook my head. 'I can’t sing.'
'Anybody can sing!' she chirped, offering to drive up to Pasadena weekly to give me lessons.
After the first session, she plunked down the piano lid, and announced, 'You can’t sing!'
Each time these frenzied critters resurfaced, they had dirt up to their eyeballs — a laugh out loud sight — but then, moments later, you’d glance at the begrimed baby pig again and, holy self-cleaning!, its face was restored to its original pinky luster.