What’s new on the farm? I’m glad you asked. Well, pretend you asked.
Last week a pig bit my hand, apparently because my hand looked just like the cheap animal cookies I was feeding the goats.
These are the Bacon3’s that we’ve discussed before. Their goal in life is to eat. That they have plenty of food in front of them all the time doesn’t convince them they aren’t about to see their ribs poking out in starvation.
Too much is never enough.
I wanted to attribute that quote to the proper owner, but it seems to be well-used in song lyrics, book titles, and blog posts.
Let’s just call it the motto of the Bacon3 and move on.
The goats love animal cookies. When I wave a handful of these bland little cookies in the air, goats run to me. Sprint like a wolf is on their tails. It’s like crack cocaine for them, except maybe a little less hallucinogenic, although the jury may be out on that. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
Once my son and I raised rabbits. We had a special treat we’d give them every day, and they’d throw themselves against their cage door like zombies in the apocalypse trying to get to the living. I wasn’t sure we’d get our hand back if we actually opened the door.
Distraction work for rabbits because their brains are smaller than an acorn. They threw themselves at the fresh grass hay, too, so that we could put their cocaine in their treat dish while they were devouring the hay.*
The Bacon3 have bigger brains
Watching the goats get cookies while the Bacon3 got nothing did not suit the pigs. Goats are cute while pigs are, well, pigs. I’ll bet Hollywood could record their snorting, slow it down a little, and get a new sound for the monster from the black lagoon. That monster squeal surrounded me while I handed out treats to cute goats. I should have known better.
You know that commercial with the teenagers debating, on a dark and stormy night with a haunted house looming, if they should escape to the running vehicle or hide behind the swinging chain saws? Yeah, that kind of “I should have known better.”
I should have known better
I know enough to wear boots and jeans into the pigs’ pen. They are generally more rude than aggressive. Usually, they push their noses against my boots as though boots look like food, too.Or their cousins. Not sure on that one.
I forgot about my hand while I was handing out treats to the goats. I guess I forgot about the pigs, too.
Then I dropped a bookie. Big mistake. I leaned down to scoop it up. Hands. Cookies. Those apparently look identical to an allegedly-starving Bacon.
The chomp was faster than hummingbird wings, and then I had blood dripping down my hand.
Bacon1 earned new names immediately. Several.
I’d like to think he’d remember to stay away from me after my tantrum. But I do dream a lot when it comes to my pigs.
I Am Smarter…I Hope
Because I’m smarter than a pig (Are you challenging that thought?), I stopped the animal cookie feeding and returned to the house to deal with the pig bite.
The Bacons still imitate rabbits on a zombie attack, bashing their noses against their gate whenever I come near. Otherwise, they’re out in the pasture eating all the grass they can find. Clearly starving.
But their radar is up for the next time I come with cookies.
Or pumpkins from the garden.
Or fingers.
My hand wound has healing, although I am afraid I’ll have a scar. A pig-toothed, snout-shaped, snorty scar to help me remember the Bacon3s.
But those three? Forgetting them is like trying to forget the time your tire blew out, you ran off the road, ruined a wheel, and had to call for a tow truck which took four hours to arrive and you were late for your cousin’s wedding. You don’t forget.
But I’d rather forget. I really would.
*Absolutely no cocaine was ever fed to any of my animals. I wouldn’t even know where to find the stuff, since the feed store doesn’t stock it.
