Enjoying a quiet night up in my tower, with a nice glass of wine, a pig under my foot, and taking the time to compose a little poem examining the true meaning of this silly little M.A.L.E.S. group.
Shoo pigs! Come on. Let's go. I have a digging crew coming through here tomorrow. I don't want to hear that I'm disturbing your natural habitat. Get out!
Having enjoyed the privilege of begging for scraps at the table throughout Being Kind To Pigs Month, as of today I'm back to the indignity of the usual way of doing things.
