- Joined
- Jun 4, 2012
- Reaction score
- 19,493
- Age
- 64
- Location
- I'm liek, in Cali, dude.
- Lifestyle
- Vegetarian
We don’t eat them, I don’t think anyone here keeps any as pets, but we sure do love them, don’t we?
Last year at a local farmer's market, someone had their pet potbellied pig with them. This market is outdoors during the warmer months and it's always fun to watch the dogs interact- but this was the only time I saw a pet pig. The pig's owner said he'd turned him vegetarian; after having a pet pig, he no longer saw pigs (or other animals) as food.
The pig had such a deep grunt, even though I don't think he weighed more than 15 or 20 pounds!
The pig had such a deep grunt, even though I don't think he weighed more than 15 or 20 pounds!
Lou
Forum Legend
This was read to me on a podcast.
Although fictional, it does shine a light between pre WWII farming and modern industrial farms.
His plans for the day went something like this:
Breakfast at six-thiny. Skim milk, crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, leftover custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shredded Wheat.
Breakfast would be finished at seven.
From seven to eight, Wilbur planned to have a talk
with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough. Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.
From eight to nine, Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.
From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.
From eleven to twelve he planned to stand still and watch flies on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.
Twelve o'clock-lunchtime. Middlings, warm water, apple parings, meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper off a package of cheese. Lunch would be over at one.
From one to two, Wilbur planned to sleep.
From two to three, he planned to scratch itchy places by rubbing against the fence.
From three to four, he planned to stand perfectly still and think of what it was like to be alive, and to wait for Fern.
At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender, leftover sandwich from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown cake.
Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking about these plans.
Although fictional, it does shine a light between pre WWII farming and modern industrial farms.
His plans for the day went something like this:
Breakfast at six-thiny. Skim milk, crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, leftover custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shredded Wheat.
Breakfast would be finished at seven.
From seven to eight, Wilbur planned to have a talk
with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough. Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.
From eight to nine, Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.
From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.
From eleven to twelve he planned to stand still and watch flies on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.
Twelve o'clock-lunchtime. Middlings, warm water, apple parings, meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper off a package of cheese. Lunch would be over at one.
From one to two, Wilbur planned to sleep.
From two to three, he planned to scratch itchy places by rubbing against the fence.
From three to four, he planned to stand perfectly still and think of what it was like to be alive, and to wait for Fern.
At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender, leftover sandwich from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown cake.
Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking about these plans.
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Lou
Forum Legend
Lou
Forum Legend
