Should I Even Be Writing a Blog? (and what am I to do about a depressed pig?)

Folks have told me how much they enjoy reading my blogs because it’s like having a conversation.  I’ve been told I write as though I’m talking to the average person in my circle of friends. I don’t use really big words without following up with a sentence explaining what I mean, and I talk about things to which folks can relate, even if it‘s somewhat vicariously. That bit of a pick-me-up inspired me to pay for a whole new year of having my very own domain name, and that was months ago. I haven’t written a damn thing since. Why? Because I honestly don’t know if I can support a blog that’s all me? Who wants to read about me? Who wants to keep reading about my pet pig…who now, with permission, lives under the house. (I’ve already crawled under the house to repair the A/C duct work she tried to walk across. Now I’m going to have to go back under to repair the heating duct work she also failed to successfully cross. I’m actually enjoying myself, as she is creating meaningful things for me to do!) Can I now make my little blog meaningful? Can I take my little corner of this crushingly infinite corner of the universe and make it interesting enough for other people to care? For other people to find a bit of themselves in what I put here? Can I make my words into something to inspire someone else to say, “YES! I want to be here!”, or am I reaching for too much?

Even as I type this, I wonder how long folks will remain interested in reading about my little corner of the universe, how I do or don’t relate to the cosmos (or our screwed up society) in my little corner of existence, and my stress about having a pet pig always in danger of being shot because we have yet to find a way (or the help) to keep her closed safely in our yard. I love her, and losing her would devastate me. If you don’t really know me, you have no idea the mess I could possibly become.

I’m not going to lie. Each day it’s the Nine Noble Virtues that keep me here. At times, I suck at living up to them, but everyday, they help make decision to stay to be a great big ‘Yes!’ I have some lovely friends who have adopted me as family who also help me stay. The key element there is LOVE. I must also give credit to my Mother. Sometimes we have our blow-ups (some of which cause me to meltdown), but every night at bedtime, she comes to me for a hug. She says it’s for her, but I know her “I love you.” is all for me. It’s her tossing of a lifeline for me. One day after a particularly bad go round of medical testing results, she hugged me and said, “My youngest baby is older than I am.” She was referring to my physical condition, but with teary eyes, she also looked into my eyes where there were no tears. What good were tears going to do me that day? The universe had decided to kick my ass again, and I was pissed! I was sad, too. I love my mother, and all of this is no good for her health either.

Then, there’s my dad. We fight terribly, and I have a habit of going straight to Mom with it. Today my Mom told me I have to stop doing that. He told her he does love me, and he worries about me. He just has no clue how to show it that doesn’t piss me off. That would be an issue he got from his early 20th century father. The showing/expressing of tender emotions just wasn’t done, so he never learned how. I know he tries, but smartass comments, sarcasm and hyper awareness of everything I eat and when I eat it just doesn’t give me warm, fuzzy feelings. He also feels double teamed by the way Mom and I get things done around here. I know he feels that way, and it does bother me some that he feels that way; however, on the other side of the coin, Mom and I feel we have to do things that way in order to get even the simplest things done. What are we supposed to do to get the major things that need to be done handled in a timely manner? We don’t like double teaming him. We really don’t. It’s just that sometimes we just don’t know what else to do. It truly sucks all the way ‘round.

Okay…now that I’ve unloaded all that crap, back to the depressed piggy. Daisy is pushing a weight exceeding 250lbs. Her move under the house hadn’t been planned, but when the satellite TV went out, some of the skirting was taken down just in case the repair man needed to go under. Daisy saw her chance, and she took it. After the repair man left, the skirting was sort of put back into place, but not properly. Finding the weak spot in the skirting, Daisy pushed her way through. Quickly getting over the irritation from the minor damage because it really was our fault for not doing the job properly, a discussion ensued. Despite rolling in the smelly mud of the ditch behind our house (a behavior meant to deter mosquitoes, ticks and any other what-nots that bite), we know that Daisy does not like to have water drip on her. She doesn’t like rain or sprinklers tinkling on her. We also weren’t too concerned about any possible smells (but we were going to keep our noses tuned just in case), because Daisy doesn’t do her business where she lives, and she never has! Let’s face it, when we think of pigs, we think of dirty, filthy critters, not animals who like to soak in sun warmed kiddie wading pools. What do we call someone who is messy? We call them a pig. Pigs have been seriously maligned. When held in captivity, pigs make the best of a bad situation. It’s not like most farmers are too concerned about the living conditions of future food when they have the pre-misconception that pigs are dirty animals and like to live in filth. Daisy proves that just isn’t so. Every day, Daisy leaves her home under the house, goes out by the back fence, and she does her business. Before she moved under the house, she split her time living under the drafty, drippy front porch and the drafty, drippy butterfly bush out back. To make her spaces more comfortable, she dragged a ragged blue tarp under the butterfly bush and a fairly good tarp under the front porch for her beds. When the fairly good tarp was retrieved and then given back to her, she wanted no part of it. Go figure. Anyhoo…it seems her main bedding down place under the house is directly under my bedroom. I’ve taken to talking to her through the window at night. I try to tell her “Good night” every night. Now, if you read the whole title, you’re probably wondering what any of this has to do with a depressed pig, it doesn’t, but the next part will.

For almost two weeks now, Daisy has been moping around. She wanders away from her food bowl without finishing to just flop down several feet away with her back to us and ignores all attempts at communication, and she stays under the house for a number of hours that is abnormal for her established behavior. There are only three reasons we can think of why she’d be behaving this way. 1) She’s depressed because she‘s feeling neglected, 2) She’s not happy that some of the shooting she’s been hearing lately is on our property, close up rather than far away, and 3) She may be preggers.

Taking each reason one at a time, it breaks down like this:

1) She feels neglected because I have fallen into the habit of finishing my morning chores and heading straight into the house. I speak to her, but I don’t brush or comb her the way I used to. Before, I’d sit down on the ground or a short stool and spend at least 30 minutes of alone time with her. That’d happen at least 2-3 times a day. Being a social creature, as all pigs are, she may be depressed over the loss of such personal social interaction.

2) We have recently begun practicing and honing our shooting skills. It’s good to learn I haven’t lost any of my targeting skills since I was the captain of the R.O.T.C. rifle team in high school, and I’m not using a rifle anymore. BIG smile! Unfortunately, Daisy and our dogs truly object to the shooting being so close to their home. They’re simply going to have to adjust.

3) Well…this one is self-explanatory. If we’re going to accuse female humans and hens of being broody, why not sows, too? Although I’ve been watching her physical form, I haven’t found any evidence to support that theory.

As of this morning 2/10/13, I believe we can ignore number’s 1-3. It’s option number 4) She’s jealous and pouting.

4) For the past few days, I have been going out of my way to give her personal time while she’s been feeding, and I have been brushing and combing her, an activity I had stopped lately. When I called her this morning, she popped out from under the house on the first call, and she waited patiently for her breakfast. However, the moment I started paying attention to the goats and chickens, she went to her corner with her back to the yard and refused to respond when called. As soon as I clicked the brush and the comb together in combination with calling her, she got up, trotted over, started eating again, and put her backside within easy reach for brushing. Yup. I’d call that jealous and pouting.

Daisy, not long after her arrival.

Daisy, not long after her arrival.

It’s a good thing I love her. I happen to like going back to bed after my morning chores are done. After all, the moment I stop moving, I’m out like a light and not easy to wake. If I keep moving during the day, I wind up hurting like hell in the evening, I miss a few chosen TV programs, and/or I drop a lot of books on my own face. For that reason, I’ve come to prefer paperbacks. They don’t hurt nearly as much as hard bound books when they smack you in the mouth. Seriously.

Daisy has come a long way in attitude and size since her arrival here.

Daisy has come a long way in attitude and size since her arrival here.

PS:  I’m not sure what transpired under the house late afternoon 2/10, and I’m sort of afraid to look.  You see, it sounded an awful lot like Daisy removed the duct work I had so carefully repaired after her last ‘oops’ and then went on to remove a whole bunch more.  I know what I’ll be doing while she’s eating her breakfast today.  I just live to crawl under the house.

About Rune Believer

I tend to be broody, but my animals make me happy. I've never known how to fit in with the crowd, and now, at 53, I don't bother to try. I once was "in" for awhile, and I found out they're mostly a miserable lot. I'd rather sit under a tree and read a book...a real book, not a pad or computer!
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