With all the pomp and circumstance required for the introduction of new livestock to the Acres, (a ride in the back of our minivan) we brought home the bacon last night. KevinBacon, that is, and Ronnie Sidepork, his brother. They spent a cozy night in the Sheep Hotel before taking the shuttle to the Piggery.
Like those of poultry, our language seems also to be rich with pig references. I mean for the title of this post to be more of a stream-of-conscious pig association than a literal title; the actual meaning of the phrase “pig in a poke” is less than desirable, despite how fun it may be to say aloud. (go ahead) Even more fun, we think, is the term “piggery,” which we heard referenced on our memorable visit to Old World Wisconsin. When one of the guides pointed out the pig quarters and called it the piggery, Andrew and I shared a wide-eyed look of mischief and a grin; who doesn’t want a piggery?! Not us. (which means, by doing the math of double negatives, we most certainly DO)
And now we’ve got one.
I never did tell you about the awesome Gator we inherited, but it is the cat’s ass and not a day goes by that we don’t thank our two lucky stars for it. Take, for example, the problem of hauling a pair-a-pigs from one sheep hotel to the faraway area formerly known as our garden. Coax them into a crate and slap ‘em in the back of the gator. Bam.
KevinBacon and Ronnie are both Large Blacks, which means you need to lift up their floppy ears by hand if you want to look ‘em in the eye. They’re also known to be docile and lardy and great on pasture, a crucial qualification, because Folks, this piggery is a mobile one. Portable electric fences will let us fine-tune their coordinates and move them about the place as needed. I’m crossing my fingers for a good acorn crop this year, having heard of the delightful flavor the nuts can impart to pork. 
Squeal! We’ve got pigs!
