Upon being released from her kennel, Artemis did fine at first. The partygoers kept their distance as she sniffed her way around the swimming pool and onto the patio. But then she decided to go back into the house. By the time she made it inside, a condition of mutual distrust was re-established between pig and people, and Ralph's nephew decided to chase Artemis through the length and breadth of that silk-lined house with the beautiful Chinese rug.

Anybody who's ever been to a real rodeo (that's RO-dee-o, not ro-DAY-o) has seen a greased pig contest. Artemis wasn't greased for the occasion that night, but she was still fast and plenty slippery. And she was sober, which made her twice as clever as Ralph's nephew. Back and forth among the revelers ran Artemis and nephew boy, with me yelling by then at the top of my lungs for him to stop. The guy never listened, because at that point he seemed intent on proving just who had the brains in that outfit.

Young pigs only have three ways to defend themselves. The first way is to run. The second way is to squeal. A pig can let out a sound so loud and piercing that it would unnerve anybody, especially if he had never heard that sound before.

The third defense mechanism is used only in extreme situations, as a method of last resort.

After being chased through the crowd, over the Chinese rug, and around all the furniture, Artemis remembered how she got inside in the first place and made a bee-line for the open sliding glass door in the dining room, where all the food was laid out. Just as she was about to make her escape, Ralph's nephew caught up with her and picked her up, head-in and ass-out. This was when Artemis used a combination of the second defense mechanism and the third, which was to open wide her little anal sphincter, take a deep breath, and squeeze. With a screeching Artemis in his arms, Ralph's nephew machine-gunned the buffet, the silk-covered walls, the caterers, and several well-dressed guests. It was a regular St. Valentine's Day Massacre.

That's one way to clear a room. Actually it pretty well cleared the house.

After the party I took Artemis down the road to another Beverly Hills address, where she was ensconced in a large dog run, originally constructed for the owner's prize bird dogs, but now vacant. I got Artemis some food and water, apologized to her, and once she was secured, I went back to my hotel for what was left of the night.

I had a flight booked out of L.A. the next day, and I figured I might never see Artemis for some time. The morning I left, I sat in her dog run with her, scratched her chin, and told her she was going to be alright. Ralph had promised me that Artemis would grow up to be a pet on his uncle's ranch back in New Mexico. We shook hands on it. I got on the plane with Ralph's assurance that Artemis would be safe. That was the last time I ever saw her.

Bob Wade told me in a phone conversation some weeks later that the congressman never really liked Ralph's birthday gift. In fact, the congressman thought she was disgusting, so he had Artemis butchered at a slaughterhouse somewhere in in Los Angeles.