Lesbian Dad

Makin’ bacon

Whenever I take the kiddles to our regional park’s “Little Farm,” I feel thorougly vindicated by my vegetarianism. I can look pigs proudly in the eye. If only they’d lift their umpteen pound heads to look back. Of course some of them have good reason not to lift their umpteen pound heads. Some of them have just spawned enough piglets to populate a soccer team.

Behold, especially if you don’t have a BLT in your hands, a wee photo essay celebrating the miracle of new life (and the phenomenal good fortune that none of us reading this have had to squeeze out eleven iterations of it in one go).

Fig. 1. “‘PEACH’ Our new large white sow will have piglets soon. –Stanley, The Farmer”

Color commentary/correction: That should read, “Our new hellaciously large white sow.” Jesús, María, y José that pig was big. And panting, when we saw her the afternoon before she gave birth, like she just trotted up to a fifth floor walk-up on the Lower East Side. Carrying two bags of groceries. On a muggy August afternoon. After an eight-hour waitressing shift. Poor gal. The sight of her in that condition took the beloved right back to those heady weeks before she unloaded the sweet boy.

Fig. 2. “Peach gave birth to 11 piglets on August 3, between 8-11 pm. This is her first litter and it is an average number of piglets. –Stanley, The Farmer”

Color commentary/correction: “This is both her first and her last litter, since while she may have delivered an average number of piglets, Peach was rightfully outraged at the excess of the whole situation, and swore that she would bite the business end of the baby daddy if he ever darkened her doorstep again.”

Fig. 3. In which the lil’ monkey thinks to herself: “Dang. I hope when the time comes, Mama and Baba won’t be shy about discussing contraception with me.”

Fig. 4. In which you, gentle reader, think to yourself: “It could be worse. I could have been reincarnated as a pregnant sow.” And you nursing mums catch your breath, clutch your mammaries, and thank your favorite diety you don’t have to service the crowd that Peach does.

[In the mood for more pastoral musings? Here’s another Little Farm dittie from about a year ago.]

back up that-away
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