As you may already know, I have taken up the new pasttime of political activism on behalf of pet potbellied pigs and their owners, specifically regarding one pig and her approaching death sentence.  Yesterday I emailed a local councilman with my views on this matter.  Since it could also be looked upon as a manifesto [...]

Gwendolyn is a 20-year old potbellied pig that has been living peacefully with her owner, Pat Brown, since her youth.  That is, until Prince George’s County disrupted that peace.  When Brown first brought Gwendolyn to her home in Prince George’s County, Maryland, zoning laws were broad enough to protect a large variety of animals as [...]

The pigs had spent most of the morning outside playing, but when I returned home from the post office they were intently working on arranging their bed inside.  This involves shifting covers with their hooves, nuzzling them with their noses, and occasionally picking them up with their teeth.  But today, they never seemed to find [...]

I stumbled upon this quick story in my browsing:
Many people owe their lives to the tender protection and brave acts of other animals. Here is a simple story about one remarkable pig, there are many other stories just like this one. JoAnn Altsman had a heart attack and collapsed to the ground. Lulu, her daughter’s [...]

My pigs overdosed on chocolate.  They’re not supposed to have any, but some time in the evening hours yesterday one of them, most likely Finnemore, climbed the treacherous heights of the leather sofa, crossed the wooden plains of the side table, and pushed the forgotten pot of goodies from its stable perch on the edge [...]

Strangely enough, the air was warmer in the West Virginian mountains than it was in southern Maryland.  The sky was clear and the sun strong, two contributing factors to the glowing radiance of the dying leaves around us.  As the feeble, gray clunker hobbled ever upwards over cumbersome potholes, little grunts emerged from the backseat [...]

The backdoor creaks open.  The backyard bleats in response.  Clunky rubber boots thud down the deck steps.  A widespread rustle in the woods rushes towards me.  Heaving an orange, painter’s bucket, water sloshes on my side, on my water-resilient boots, in my water-resilient boots.  Halfway to the barn, the wooded rustle catches up to me.  [...]

I knew about the law of diminishing returns from my economics class, but never did I expect that it would be applied so brutally as it has been to my little farm.
Piscataway Acres began with a small flock of laying hens in a tall, white coop across the yard on the edge of the woods. [...]