Babe(s) Go for a Walk P. 2

^ Wild burdock is the pigs’ favorite leafy green. As soon as they get a new pen, they trundle themselves around, eating every leaf they can find.

*A summer newsletter, 2020.

So the pigs went for a walk...

Dear Customers, your pigs are now being raised with a double electric strand and full electric net. If you are low on time, that's the short and sweet of it. If, however, you're interested in how we went from a single wire to a comparative fortress, the explanation is as follows: 
 

A couple weeks ago, Joshua and I returned from a weekend out of town. As we drove to up to the gate that leads into pasture (we rent a property in Woodbury), I noticed a little flapping piece of paper. Cue roiling effect in the stomach. Typically, notes in strange locations don't bode well, especially when you're the only people going through the gate, and you have 15 pigs just over yonder. It doesn't take more than two brain cells for the MAYDAY message to compute. 

I tentatively approached the note, praying it wouldn't have our names on it. Unless it's in God's practice to rearrange letters on a note like a speedy version of Banana Grahams, I was too late. "Josh and Macayla..." The note effectively conveyed the message: "Your pigs went for a walk." And, "We lost your phone numbers." And, "We got them back." And, "You probably should check in with the police department." 

It took all of 0.5 seconds for my stomach to sink (even further), and peppered between my verbal "Doggoneits" it was a barrage of internal crap, crap, crap. (For the record, I've deemed "crap" and acceptable emailable word since we deal with it quite literally every day, and it was fitting. Please excuse my French.)

We turned around and saw the owner of the property sitting on his porch, and Josh and I began walking one of the weirder walks of shame. The three of us sat for a few moments to chat about the... incident (of which Dave, a retired animal farmer, was very understanding). With everything cleared up, Josh trekked back to reinforce the electric pen, and I had the honor of calling the police. To apologize. About my pigs. 

The woman who answered the phone actually happened to be the Dispatcher who had received the original call, and though I couldn't totally tell, I think she landed in the camp somewhere between Mildly Funny and Utterly Irritating, which means she was mostly non-plussed. 

That morning, a woman had called the sheriff's department. Why? Because she was on her usual walk down Tower Drive (parallel to Radio Drive) when, quite unusually, a collection of pigs appeared and began nibbling at her heels. Of course, if I was on stroll and all of a sudden a collective 2,000 lbs of walking bacon-on-a-sticks tried to taste me instead of the other way around, I, too, would call in reinforcements. 

Thankfully, the woman made it out of imminent peril and into safety (for the record, our pigs are actually, in fact, overwhelmingly friendly, though it's fair to say we all can sometimes consider overwhelming friendliness perilous.) The non-bemused Woodburian Dispatcher, having received a call that earned itself a "Well That's a First" title, radioed out the message. "Niner, Niner, Bravo, Delta, Ghost Rider, do you copy? This is Command. We've received a mayday signal from the southwesternly quadrant of the city. Reports of creatures unknown to Woodbury loosed in the wild. I repeat, creatures called Pigs are terrorizing the neighborhood. Please respond. Over." 

So that's obviously not how the Dispatcher sent out the call because, as we've established, there was no sense of humor, but whatever the exact transcript, it was responded with, "Is this a joke?" The Officer responding to the call genuinely thought the station was playing a prank on him. No sir, our deepest apologies, it was not. 

That Good Sir, unaccustomed to such...agricultural... endeavors, rose to the challenge, whether he liked it or not. (I sure hope he did because some individuals *cough*Dispatcher*cough* didn't find the amusement in what I'm sure we all would agree was an acutely hilarious situation.) Armed with literally nothing that could help herd pigs (it's nigh impossible no matter what), the Officer approached the offending pack, and scoped the tension-ridden situation. "Command, this is Ghost Rider. Requesting immediate back up. Creatures are exhibiting overt signs of aggression or friendliness - unable to tell. They're advancing steadily and I may not be able to hold them off for long. It appears that there are 15, and... wait... I see a possible 16th, a 16th crea--- no, no wait. It's a farmer, and he seems to be holding a... an ear of corn! This man must be a veteran of such battles. Will radio back."

As the Officer now brandished a glinting, yellow sword, the fierce fiends didn't stand a chance. With the aura of a true King Arthur, the Woodburian Officer found his farmer calling and Pig Pipered those pigs in a line. Each escapee mesmerizedly followed their newfound leader up the tar road, through the aforementioned gate, over the pastoral hills, and into the thicket of the woods, returning peaceably to the electric pen. How the Officer knew where the animals belonged will forever remain a mystery, but it's safe to assume the powers of this knowledge accompanied the powers of his channeled pig whisperer.

The pigs, now secure in their double stranded pen, feast on the forest and roll in the mud, happy as can be. The responding Officer survived unscathed and is currently living with his wife, 2 children, and all his limbs. The Dispatcher, having recognized her lack of merriment, is taking lessons at the local comedy club. 

Thank you and good night. 


**No Dispatchers were harmed in the writing of this documentation. 
***The good humor, or lack thereof, of the Dispatcher has yet to be verified.
****If contact information of the responding police Officer is known, please call 651.955.1904. We have a job offer for him.