The Sad Plight of Pigs

We have three pigs at the farm right now. I hesitate to call them piglets, even though they still technically very much are piglets. I just don’t like to get attached to them. I don’t even like naming them. My father owns one, his co-woker owns the second, and Scott and I have one. We call her Miss Meatball. 

Because realistically, I can’t have an animal on the farm that doesn’t have a name. Even the layer hens have names. 

The thing about the pigs is that they really only serve one purpose, and that is for eating. The worst part about that for me is that I don’t eat pork, unless it’s bacon. And even then, I usually go for turkey bacon.

 

The sheep have several purposes: Fiber, you could technically milk them (But I’d LOVE to see you try it), lamb, meat. 

The chickens have several purposes: Eggs, meat, to watch Will try to avoid them in the barnyard

The horses, we ride. They have no other purpose, but my mother would kill me if I even listed meat on this list. 

Cows: Milk, meat. Even they have multiple purposes.

 

But pigs? Nope. Pigs are just for eating. Which totally sucks, because I can’t even make a case for them to stay at the farm like I did for last year’s lambs. (“They’re for fiber, they’re not even purebred, no one wants them…”)

Good grief, they’re cute right now though. 

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