It was a fluke, sort of, that I got a breeding group of pigs. I had obtained two “feeder pigs” to see if I could raise them for the freezer. I spoiled them, named them, and they had the run of the farm because they could get under the gates quite easily. I didn’t really mind. They were cute and would follow me everywhere. The closer we got to their butcher date, the more they earned their new names: “the terrorists”. I started calling them that because their love of food outweighed everything else. They would get in the chicken …
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