50 Piglets

This morning I was feeling run down and a bit depressed about my situation in the larger scheme of things.  Which is why, when I heard gunfire coming from the direction in which The Partner had just set off on a walk, I slapped my forehead (startling the parrots who were awaiting their breakfast), said OHNO and WHATNOW, checked the quantum field to see that all was well, and continued on with the task at hand.

Ten minutes later, parrots on each shoulder munching away, we all looked up at The Partner as he rather swiftly entered the yurt, saying something to the effect of wowwhatarush.  GETTING TO THE POINT, there were roughly 55 pigs up behind the yurt, going down to the stream.  Five adults and 50 piglets.  I was crushed to miss this, but less so as the story came out, which of course involved The Partner being charged by a sow.  Right behind the yurt!  Having adopted the habit of always carrying a pistol on these excursions (because, mountain lions, snakes,  bears and now? pigs) he was able, being an incredibly self possessed sort at times, to fire off the shots I heard to deflect the sow’s clear intent to flatten and trample him.  The adults apparently took off leaving the fleet of piglets to follow on their own, with, naturally, the smallest one last.  Of course they were all adorable and all different colors: gray, brown, spotted, red.  But really, Gentle Reader, that is a lot of pigs.

The hillside up behind us and the slope down to the creek- a large swath of ground- now look like a demented and very inept golfer spent several hours, if not days, venting an incredibly bad temper.

Given the crepuscularly timed activity penchant of pigs, it is now clearer to me why the two blasted roosters next door, who started crowing at 4 am (moon still fairly full and apparently hard to differentiate from the sun), kept it up for the next two solid hours, at length getting the entire 60 or so members of the flock into vocal high dudgeon.  They saw the pigs.  As did the horses who made similar alerting sorts of noises.  Our landlord, however, who was outside at that hour slamming things around into a pickup truck, did not.  He’s not going to like what he sees in his lower garden area, is all I’m going to say.

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