Its just another peaceful country morning. The sun is shining through the windows. Dappled shadows play across the kitchen floor. Just another day in paradise.
Suddenly the entire trailer starts to shudder as though someone has driven a compact car into the end. What is going on? Alarmed, we rush to the window. What could have shattered our blissful, relaxing morning?
There on our deck is a hefty, black creautre. She is covered in dense, bristly black hair, with a startling dash of pink on her underside and behind each armpit. Peach. The pot bellied sow has escaped from her pen (again) and is investigating the deck. As she 'tippity taps' along the wooden deck the entire trailer vibrates under the weight of her prancing. She elegantly picks up her hooves and descends the stairs with an unexpected grace from a body so rotund. She truly is poetry in motion.
She scampers across the yard, stopping briefly in front of the pen that houses our resident boar, Vern. She flirts a bit. From my lookout post in the front room I can see her long, luxurious piggy eyelashes batting. Vern raises his head in interest. Its not hard to imagine him giving Peach "the wink and the guns", if he had opposable thumbs, that is.
My Dearly Beloved decides that enough is enough. Pigs aren't meant to be free ranging around our yard. Peach raises her snout as he approaches. She begins wagging her tail and trots to meet him. Her intelligant eyes survey him curiously. Dearly Beloved guides her back to her pen, and she williingly scuttles through the gate he holds open for her. What a good pig. Peace is restored.
A few moments later we feel the familiar rumble outside on the deck. She's out again. *sigh* What to do with her? She suns herself on the warm wood, content. Now who can complain with a sight like that out their front window?
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