On The Farm

Kiddo and the Warthog, as I was driving them to camp, wanted to hear a funny story about what happened at the farm. Never one to pass up the opportunity for recounting, I told them how as soon as the pigs saw me cruising down the farm road on my e-bike, they got up and traipsed over to the gate, anxiously awaiting their two pounds of grain served to order. Heard them, as I filled the bucket, snorting and squealing, and fighting, banging against the fence, causing all sorts of commotion. Grabbed their feed trays, avoided Aster and Annabelle ramming the gate, nearly knocking it into my downturned head, poured the grain expeditiously enough to avoid a full-on riot, kicked the trays under the fence, and hightailed it out of there — the four sows already fighting and grunting, doing their rigamarole, song and dance, moving from tray to tray until they finally found their equilibrium.

Sauntered into the barn where the feeder piglets were waiting. Dumped their old grain, poured some anew, wa…