And Then There Were Twelve

And Then There Were Twelve

Trout, one of the pigs here for the summer, was always game for a belly rub.  She’d amble over, stretch herself out, and wait for attention with her eyes closed, a picture of relaxation and trust.  So it was curious, yesterday, when she and Truffle were shipped back to their farm of origin, that her trust evaporated as soon as she left the safe and known confines of her enclosure.  I had fenced in a corridor just outside their gate with the hope that they would simply follow me and my bucket of grain down the path, up the ramp, and into the trailer.  But as soon as they passed through the gate and into terra incognita, I went from being the trusted rubber of bellies to someone eyed with deep suspicion.  Their trust in me and my intentions was situational, and even though there was nothing loud or forceful about my approach the newness was enough to make them wary.  (It’s also possible that they remembered their last stressful trip in the same trailer a few months ago.)  So we sat back and watched as they inched their way down the path following a sprinkling of grain.  I’d placed a highly valued bucket of slops inside the trailer and knew that once one of them got there the other would not want to miss out.  This scenario played out at a glacial pace, and, eventually, we shut the door behind them.

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