When I got back outside, Papa was home from butchering. His clothes were a real mess.
"Papa," I said, "after a whole day at rendering pork, don't you start to hate your clothes?"
"Like I could burn 'em and bury 'em."
"But you wear a leather apron when you kill pork. How come you still get so dirty?"
"Dying is a dirty business. Like getting born." (12.4-8)
Just another reminder of the Peck family's reliance on Papa's job as a killer of pigs. That's right—more connections between dying and "getting born": both messy, untidy facts of life.
He was always up before I was. And when I went out to the barn that morning, all was still. He was lying on the straw bed that he rigged for himself, and I knew before I got to him that he was dead.
"Papa." I said his name just once. "It's all right. You can sleep this morning. No cause to rouse yourself. I'll do the chores. There's no need to work any more. You just rest." (15.2-3)
Papa's death, unlike the violence and brutality that characterizes many of the scenes in the book, is presented to us as a calm, peaceful thing, almost welcome when it finally comes. What is the author trying to suggest anything about how he sees death? And do you agree?
"But you're a good butcher, Papa. Even Mr. Tanner said you were the best in the country."
"He say that?"
"Honest, Papa. He said he could look at half a pork and tell it was you that boiled and scraped it. He said you even had your own trade mark. When you kill pork and twain it, head to rump, you always do what no other man does. You even divide the tail, and half it right to the end. He said this on the way to Rutland."
"I'm sure glad to be famed for something." (12.62-65)
Although he might not be the richest man in town, or even the best farmer, Papa can lay claim to being the very best butcher. Even an ex-piggy's tail shows how dedicated he is. Why? Because he believes in the importance of doing a good job.