Note: This post has nothing to do with inner-growth or being female, but I needed to record such an usual life experience in case I forget...because I forget stuff.

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Husband and I recently adopted our 14th family member, Bart.  Basically, I am Angelina Jolie…except instead of making mental illness look cool and adopting children from foreign countries, I increase the stigma and adopt farm animals from irresponsible pet owners.  But aside from that, we’re pretty much the same.

So far, all of these adoptions have been on an experimental basis – most people would call this fostering, but I don’t get paid by the state or reimbursed for medical bills.  Thus, owning them is an “experiment,” like most  everything else in my life, especially marriage.

Husband is an amazing sport - he actually really loves the animals once we have them...almost as much as he loves paying for them.  There are times when he wonders if my pesky little “habit” is worth the cost, but then I remind him I’m happily childless.  “Husband, when you measure a few chickens and pigs up against the price of raising kids and their college tuitions, you've basically won the lottery.”  Uhm, did you see how I just made my husband rich by spending his money?

Suzanne is my number one farm animal supporter and is always up for new, strange adventures.  She went with me to get Bart so Husband could do something more important...like not-go.  When we arrived to Bart's home, his previous owner - let's call her Wanda - gleamed with the veined enthusiasm of a car salesman.  She displayed his cuteness by pouring half a box of Cheerios on the ground, and telling us he drinks beer. Since pigs are prone to obesity and property destruction when bored (and I assume drunk), this seemed to be a greater testament to her lack of intelligence than to his cuteness...but you gotta hand it to her for trying.

We decided that yes - we should definitely rescue Bart from this woman.  Bart was lured into my 4-door car with a second box of cereal, and I sat in the back with him while Suzanne drove.  I had one job: Do Not Let 100-Pound Pig Crawl Into Drivers Lap.  Obviously I failed, or I wouldn't be writing about it.

In my defense, I ran out of Cheerios, which was my method of mind-control, and Bart was strong and sneaky and flexible and fast like a snake-pig...a snake-pig who crawls all over you with iron-spiked hooves.  Wanda did warn me about the likelihood of this happening, but I thought she was on drugs because she was consciously giving her pig diabetes.

Suzanne pulled over to avoid an accident; the rest of the trip was dramaless and not worth writing about.  In tomorrow's post, however, I will summarize the accidental and violent introduction of Bart and Bobo.