Today's balmy spring day has me.

Thinking back to Mother's Day, a few years ago, snow on the ground, we went to look for pigs. Stops later we found a promise of pigs. A surreal loop. First stop. Cancer. We were told this by his son, wearing an university sweatshirt, home from college for the weekend.

Second stop a sty of grunting pigs around a basin. Have you heard a pig before? Murderous squeels and earthy grunts alternate. The squeels usually indicate a need, hunger almost always, sometimes fear. Ah success. No. Only full growns. "Come in for a beer, it's after noon." By the woodstove cans of various macro brews and discussion of who to visit for piglets. A broken ankle raised in ice on a barstool. He had the suggestion.

Final stop. At the door no shirt, scratching a stomach, "in two weeks time." A good price. Three pigs two weeks later.


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