Anonymous Poster
Epic Contributor
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2005
- Messages
- 29,678
You’d think I’d learn. That at some point I would sigh and say, this is something I have no control over, and just let it happen. But I can’t! It’s not in me. I’m referring to our sow Hannah. I know she’s a pig, and they’re called pigs for a reason, but Hannah exemplifies every nasty thing anyone ever said about pigs. She’s greedy, she’s a glutton, she’s underhanded and sneaky and if that’s not enough, she’s a theif. Yes I said theif.
This pig is very well fed. She’s so fat she can barely walk, but that doesn’t stop her from acting like she’s starving to death. I’ve shown her statistics, trying to be gentle.
“Hannah, honey, you’re a blimp. You need to lay off.”
She just shrugs it off, and continues her nasty behavior. Hannah discovered several months ago that despite her girth she is able to wriggle her way under the fence from one pasture to the next. This is how she perpetrates her crime. She waits until I am not looking and strikes like a snake, nailing that extra loaf of bread or not quite empty bag of feed. Then the chase is on. I don’t want to try to count how many times I have chased her across the pasture screaming, threatening all kinds of retribution while she runs, and despite the fact that she’s fat and ungainly, manages to outrun me every time, all the while lugging a loaf of bread or feed bag.
She’s learned that she only needs to run so far before I give out and then it’s just a matter of finding the weak spot in the wrapper and the prize is hers. If anyone ever tells you that pigs aren’t intelligent animals, don’t believe them. She not only found her escape route, but she knows the precise moment my back will be turned, exactly which end of the feed wagon to snatch from as one end is higher than the other, just how far out of reach to be to avoid a well placed kick, has literally put me on my backside as I strike out with a booted foot, missing her my mere inches and landing on my rump, and she steps back gazing at me and I swear she's laughing. She knows exactly how fast I can run and how far. Plump, yes. Dumb, no.
Why haven’t I fixed the fence, some may ask. Why isn’t she contained where she can’t get out? There must be a way to prevent this daily routine. Well, I’m sure there is, and if I tried hard enough I’m sure I could find it. But, being just that hardheaded I know that one day she’ll slip up. She’ll misjudge the kick range, or drop that loaf of bread, or snag it on the side of the wagon, botching her getaway, and that’s when I’ll have her. It’s not about fixing it where it won’t happen. It’s about revenge, and I’m not above it. /forums/images/graemlins/wink.gif
This pig is very well fed. She’s so fat she can barely walk, but that doesn’t stop her from acting like she’s starving to death. I’ve shown her statistics, trying to be gentle.
“Hannah, honey, you’re a blimp. You need to lay off.”
She just shrugs it off, and continues her nasty behavior. Hannah discovered several months ago that despite her girth she is able to wriggle her way under the fence from one pasture to the next. This is how she perpetrates her crime. She waits until I am not looking and strikes like a snake, nailing that extra loaf of bread or not quite empty bag of feed. Then the chase is on. I don’t want to try to count how many times I have chased her across the pasture screaming, threatening all kinds of retribution while she runs, and despite the fact that she’s fat and ungainly, manages to outrun me every time, all the while lugging a loaf of bread or feed bag.
She’s learned that she only needs to run so far before I give out and then it’s just a matter of finding the weak spot in the wrapper and the prize is hers. If anyone ever tells you that pigs aren’t intelligent animals, don’t believe them. She not only found her escape route, but she knows the precise moment my back will be turned, exactly which end of the feed wagon to snatch from as one end is higher than the other, just how far out of reach to be to avoid a well placed kick, has literally put me on my backside as I strike out with a booted foot, missing her my mere inches and landing on my rump, and she steps back gazing at me and I swear she's laughing. She knows exactly how fast I can run and how far. Plump, yes. Dumb, no.
Why haven’t I fixed the fence, some may ask. Why isn’t she contained where she can’t get out? There must be a way to prevent this daily routine. Well, I’m sure there is, and if I tried hard enough I’m sure I could find it. But, being just that hardheaded I know that one day she’ll slip up. She’ll misjudge the kick range, or drop that loaf of bread, or snag it on the side of the wagon, botching her getaway, and that’s when I’ll have her. It’s not about fixing it where it won’t happen. It’s about revenge, and I’m not above it. /forums/images/graemlins/wink.gif