I have been delinquent.
Minnie is struggling. Funny calf this one, she has been a drama queen all the way along. She falls asleep and she looks dead. You try to wake her up and she’s limp as an overcooked noodle. She sleeps a lot. I figure that she has actually just reached gestational maturity. She was likely born about three weeks early. She’s just a newborn really. She gets a dose of electrolytes a couple of times a day and some probiotics.
This morning she was pretty perky, but this afternoon she wasn’t. For several nights I have said good night and good bye to Minnie, but every morning she’s able to be roused into action.
I don’t hold a lot of hope for her. This is an effort born of stubbornness by both the farmer (who should know better) and the calf (who really doesn’t). Together we will get wherever it is that we are going. Think good thoughts for Minnie. She’s a good little moo-zer. Thanks.
Mojo, 15 of 18, pigger, pork dog, pig-pig-pig, on the other hand, is doing great. He’s an immensely crabby little bugger– a real porcine curmudgeon. He hates, I mean HATES, to be picked up. What a noise he can make. All of his wounds have healed — no more scabs on the cheeks, leg has healed up, and the giant lump on his back side (which he created by himself when he launched himself down a stairwell) has reduced to a dark spot on his hip. Being, of course, a pig, Mojo wants to eat ALL THE TIME… even if all he is really doing is mouthing the nipple on the bottle and dribbling the milk out the side of his mouth. He’s happy to waste milk.
When he’s not eating he follows JB and me around during chores, likely expecting that he’s going to eat again. He has also enjoyed rooting around in the greenhouse after I pulled out the overgrown tomato plants. Won’t eat a tomato, but is happy to push the dirt around.
This pig is a character. Alice calls him Mojo Royko, after the writer, and together we have plotted to photograph Mojo Royko with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. Not being a smoker, I bought some cigars in a small box. I thought, huh, maybe there are five or six in there, but no, it was, as near as I could tell, cigarettes in brown wrappers. Not the effect we were looking for. You will have to wait for those photos.
Here are a few of Mojo bellying up to the bar for his milk shots. You’ll have to imagine the cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.