One of my astute, esteemed colleagues, the "Felz" of felzball.blogspot.com, pointed out to me the irony of one of my recent posts. No sooner did I proclaim that I'm a one man opining machine, then I go on a two-week hiatus from posting. Life, and sore hands, get in the way of my bestowing my wisdom on the world sometimes. That said, I will do my best to get back on the beam.
Anyhoo, given that Bubba and I are the only ones I know of with a pot-bellied pig in their domicile, I offer today the latest update on our fine family addition. What have we learned after 5 months with Piggie Smalls? Well, first of all, despite popular opinion, they are remarkably clean creatures, all things considered. There is no discernable odor to them, save for after the occasional roll-around in the ol' litter box. He's odorless, if anything. Bubba would even go so far as to say he "smells like a rose," though that may be a stretch.
Then we have the snout. The snout to Orville, is like our opposable thumbs. It's everything to him. He roots with it. Burrows with it. And of course, smells with it. Remarkably though, it's amazingly ineffective as a scouting tool. We throw the occasional scrap, peanut, whatever, right in front of his face. Instantly, he starts zooming around like a Hoover vac, but to no avail. Only when he happens upon the morsel does he find it, completely independent of his nose.
We've also learned that pigs are quite timid. The Big-O is a flat out fraidy cat. Scared of everything. He's a loving creature, but just a big wuss. The cat laughs at him. When not eating, alls he wants to do is be ensconsed, like in a womb. He'll sit on your lap, bury his snout in any nook he can find, preferably on one's person. Get up to go to the bathroom and it's pig armageddon, for fear of losing that security. Worse yet, because he's got no claws or any other discernable weapons of defense, all he has is his squealing. Just a God-awful, high pitched squeal. It works though, I guess.
Lastly, we've learned that pigs, much like dogs, LOVE to be belly rubbed. He'll often stand at the foot of the catch, completely stoic, waiting for an invitation. Two rubs in just the right spot on his belly with my toes, and he falls like the Roman Empire. And then, my friends, we get to witness "pig bliss." He gets this bizarre look on his face, and you actually see a pig smile. He'll sit there contentedly for as long as you'll rub him.
Just like anyone, he's a genuine character. Full of great qualities, faults, annoyances, and love. The Big-O has made himself a part of our family.
Anyhoo, given that Bubba and I are the only ones I know of with a pot-bellied pig in their domicile, I offer today the latest update on our fine family addition. What have we learned after 5 months with Piggie Smalls? Well, first of all, despite popular opinion, they are remarkably clean creatures, all things considered. There is no discernable odor to them, save for after the occasional roll-around in the ol' litter box. He's odorless, if anything. Bubba would even go so far as to say he "smells like a rose," though that may be a stretch.
Then we have the snout. The snout to Orville, is like our opposable thumbs. It's everything to him. He roots with it. Burrows with it. And of course, smells with it. Remarkably though, it's amazingly ineffective as a scouting tool. We throw the occasional scrap, peanut, whatever, right in front of his face. Instantly, he starts zooming around like a Hoover vac, but to no avail. Only when he happens upon the morsel does he find it, completely independent of his nose.
We've also learned that pigs are quite timid. The Big-O is a flat out fraidy cat. Scared of everything. He's a loving creature, but just a big wuss. The cat laughs at him. When not eating, alls he wants to do is be ensconsed, like in a womb. He'll sit on your lap, bury his snout in any nook he can find, preferably on one's person. Get up to go to the bathroom and it's pig armageddon, for fear of losing that security. Worse yet, because he's got no claws or any other discernable weapons of defense, all he has is his squealing. Just a God-awful, high pitched squeal. It works though, I guess.
Lastly, we've learned that pigs, much like dogs, LOVE to be belly rubbed. He'll often stand at the foot of the catch, completely stoic, waiting for an invitation. Two rubs in just the right spot on his belly with my toes, and he falls like the Roman Empire. And then, my friends, we get to witness "pig bliss." He gets this bizarre look on his face, and you actually see a pig smile. He'll sit there contentedly for as long as you'll rub him.
Just like anyone, he's a genuine character. Full of great qualities, faults, annoyances, and love. The Big-O has made himself a part of our family.
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