Brutus being a hogger not a pig – Photo: L. Weikel
Opposite Day
I might as well call today Opposite Day. As magical as yesterday was, with the myriad animal sightings and a meteor streaking across the sky, today was, well, lovely but benign.
OK, maybe benign isn’t the opposite of magical. Perhaps I’m exaggerating a tad the difference between yesterday’s and today’s experiences. I’ll concede that, if pressed, I probably wouldn’t want to experience the literal opposite of a magical day.
In fact, today was rather delightful. A warm front came through (or perhaps the frigid arctic front just left) making it almost feel as though taking a walk without a jacket might be on the agenda. It wasn’t. I got chilly before stepping off the porch. But it was tempting.
Pacha Pig-nose – Photo: L. Weikel
Clarification
I posted the other day about a pig in my life to whom I’ve given the name Princess. Let me be clear: this is an unofficial naming. Indeed, I feel she told me her name is Princess. But I’ve not seen her paperwork, nor would I trust it to accurately reflect what Princess would like to be called anyway.
Princess is not my pig. She abides on a neighbor’s farm. Said neighbor is a farmer and part of this farmer’s offerings to his customers are pork products.
This makes me very sad, but it’s not for me to judge nor to condemn. I do, however, choose to bond with Princess and at the very least let her know that she is loved and seen and appreciated while she’s alive. I’m grateful for her being my friend who pokes her head outside of her hut and then runs out to greet me whenever I walk by.
I intend to give her a carrot now and then, in addition to the dog treats I inevitably carry in my pocket. Based on suggestions of a friend, I may occasionally bring a different vegetable or fruit (an apple, squash, spinach, cooked broccoli?) but if I’m honest, I’m lucky when I remember a carrot. So if she only gets what is the equivalent of a piece of candy from me (a carrot) now and again, I admit to feeling little to no remorse. She could have worse friends.
Alas, the past two days it’s been dark by the time we reached Princess’s abode. So even though I remembered her treat, I didn’t see her.
Princess Pig-nose – Photo: L. Weikel
Admission
I’ll admit it: I’m hoping she might have babies. I shudder at the prospect of their future, too, but hey. We all have our destinies. And as our puppies have turned six months old already, the prospect of bonding with some piglets is a tempting daydream.
Between us, Karl and I experienced quite the magical day today. We’re both feeling a bit ‘blissed out’ by it all, to be honest. It’s not that there was any heavy lifting involved. I think sometimes it’s just a matter of expanding our awareness enough to drink it in that can leave us needing to just power down and be still.
Karl began his day with a gorgeous Red Fox crossing in front of his car and then trotting confidently across a field. I wasn’t with him, but it was almost the first thing out of his mouth when he arrived home. He kept marveling at the creature’s robust health and the stunning color and condition of its coat.
Fox can signify a variety of messages, from family matters to creativity to using camouflage to keep oneself and one’s family safe and out of harm’s way. Karl’s trip happened to be all about family and the beauty of the Fox felt like a wonderful omen. His trip ended up being especially loving and sweet.
On his way home, he spotted an enormous Bald Eagle perched in a tree overhanging a road near our house. While we both know they’ve made a powerful resurgence in the area over the years, we never seem to lose our sense of excitement and awe when visited by Eagle.
Recently, most of my sightings have been along the Tohickon or the Lenape Sipu, and almost always when I’ve been alone. (Although I did see two just last Sunday when taking a walk with my friend along the Delaware!) I can’t tell you how often I’ve seen a crestfallen look sweep across Karl’s face when I recount seeing an Eagle.
So it was especially meaningful to have Bald Eagle visit Karl today. He finally felt like he was part of the club. And best of all, the raptor was scoping out potential quarry on a branch close enough to Karl that its markings were unmistakable. A powerful gift from Spirit.
Eagle – Photo: L. Weikel
My Magic
I’d already experienced an afternoon that reinforced for me how unbelievably lucky I am to do what I do. Maybe it’s more accurate to say ‘to witness what I do.’ Because really – I just create the space and watch things unfold. Anyway, it’s hard to describe, which is why I tend to dance around it most of the time, or not even bring it up at all.
Anyway, I knew I needed to walk after the session I had. I needed to ground myself; I needed to make sure I was back in my body. By the time we set out darkness had fallen. The constellations were stunning in spite of the brilliance of the half moon above.
Just short of a mile into our walk, I turned around to untangle myself from Brutus’s leash when a meteor suddenly streaked through the sky, right to left. It was surprisingly low on the horizon and large – burning a brilliant yellow with an outline of crimson. And it crossed the sky slowly (for a meteor) – it wasn’t some little blip. While I yelped out to Karl when I saw it, my gasp and garbled, “Look! Oh! WOW!” didn’t sink in quickly enough for him to see it.
There was something special going on in the cosmos tonight. Like I said, the constellations seemed especially vibrant and obvious. And by that I mean, the patterns seemed emphasized somehow. The sky was filled with stars, as usual, and often I just drink them all in with my eyes wide as possible. But tonight felt different.
Our Shared Magic
Finally, another mile into our walk the call of a Barred Owl echoed through the woods to our left. I could hardly contain my excitement. I don’t remember ever hearing a Barred Owl up here in our environs. The first time I’d ever heard one (and then heard several) was a few years ago in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Did you hear that?” I whispered.
Of course he had. It was the only sound in this silent February night. The “Who cooks for youoooooooo” call of the owl was coming from the same vicinity the coyotes had been howling a few nights ago. There must be a lot of action down there along that part of the creek.
The Barred Owl hooted another several times (one of which you can hear, above) giving me a chance to record it on my phone. It’s almost as if it knew when I had because as soon as I was satisfied, it went silent. I can’t explain why, but this encounter, too, felt…different. Magical, if you will.
Meet Princess (and tell me she’s not adorable) – Photo: L. Weikel
Meet Princess
Meet Princess. Please don’t ask me how I know her name. Surely you know enough not to ask me that question, right? I just know.
Every single day I walk by her field and shelter/hut. Every day, if she catches sight of me or hears my voice, she comes running across the field, squealing a greeting and seemingly providing a running commentary as she travels the entire length of the field. Her enthusiasm is simply adorable.
I realize there’s a decent chance that she’s as friendly and conversational with everyone who walks by her field as she is with me. And while it would make me sad to learn that she lumps all us humans together, somehow I doubt that’s the case. I think she recognizes the high pitch of my voice and she remembers that I bring her tasty puppy treats.
Indeed, that reminds me. I need to write myself a sticky note to post at eye level on our kitchen door reminding me to take a couple carrots on our next walk. While it’s obvious she enjoys the puppy treats, I have a feeling she’d also enjoy something more substantial.
“Did you say treats?” – Photo: L. Weikel
Future Experiments
One of these days – or maybe over the course of a few days – I’m going to ask Karl to walk past the field the same we do every day, but well ahead of me. I’m not sure how good her eyesight is, so I’m not sure if she sees me or if she simply hears my high sing-song-y voice and responds to that. And the reason I think she might react differently to Karl is because he never speaks to her. He stands on the road and just watches – so they basically never interact (nor has she ever heard him speak to her).
So the first test is whether Karl can sneak by her field without making a sound and snagging her attention. Will she see him? Will she smell him and come running? Does she respond to just any human walking past her field?
If she doesn’t see him or seem to realize he’s walking by, will she come to him if he calls her?
Given that she could even be responding to the presence of the puppies, the conclusions we draw from such experiments might be skewed if he has one of the puppies with him. But first things first. We can eventually rule out ‘the pup factor,’ if need be.
I also think we should try to observe her responses to other people walking by her field (i.e., not just Karl). But that may be harder to coordinate.
Whoa! Up close and personal! – Photo: L. Weikel
Friend or Nothing Special?
Let’s face it. Princess may simply be the most affable pig around. Who knows? Perhaps she considers us all to be her subjects (remember: she is Princess!) and assumes that everyone walking by is simply paying her tribute (or should be).
I can vouch for the fact that she’s a remarkable creature. It’s true: I want to think that she recognizes me. She melts my heart when she ever so gently nibbles the dog treats from my hand and grunts in satisfaction.
Brutus and Princess sussing each other out – Photo: L. Weikel
This morning both Brutus and Pacha eyed me skeptically when I enthusiastically chirped, “Wanna go for a ride? Who wants to go for a ride?” The last time they went for a ride with me was to the vet for another set of shots a few weeks ago. Their enthusiasm remained underwhelmed when I threw in a further enticement, “And then we’ll take a walkie?”
If looks could say, “Umm, no,” they speak it fluently.
The thing is, I knew they would enjoy the walk. We’d be exploring new territory (for them, anyway) so there would be an abundance of new odors, as well as a plethora of nooks and crannies to explore.
We were going to meet a dear friend to walk along the towpath between the canal and the Lenape Sipu (Delaware River). As you know, the pups generally love taking walks – unless, of course, temperatures are in the wind chill vicinity of zero or below or, Goddess forbid, it’s raining. Rain is an utter deal breaker. It’s worse than snow by a mile. But the sun was shining and I could tell the day was already milder than yesterday.
“Did someone say ‘puppaccino?'” (Brutus) – Photo: L. Weikel
Pit Stop
I wanted to splurge and supply a hot beverage for my friend and me to enjoy on our walk. When I thought it through, though, I realized I had to go to a Starbucks with a drive-thru, for the carnage two puppies could do to the inside of my car if I left them unattended for even ten seconds could be catastrophic. So I negotiated a slight detour to a drive-thru in a nearby town.
As we began our journey, the pups settled into the dog bed I placed on the passenger’s side seat. Pacha seemed to fall asleep immediately, while Brutus leaned against her and simply eyed me with a slightly baleful expression.
He perked up slightly as we sat in line to place our order. There was something familiar going on here, and he knew there was something pleasant associated with it. I could tell he couldn’t quite place it…
And then I rolled down my window and placed my order. While I wanted to order puppaccinos for my babies, I didn’t want to chance them getting sick. This was a lot longer ride than running to the vet, and I was becoming uncomfortably aware of the stench of mothballs* wafting through the vehicle, despite my best attempts to open all the windows a couple of inches to keep the air circulating.
I hesitated when the barista asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you?” I casually mentioned that I would love to ask for two puppaccinos, but didn’t think that was the best idea.
Brutus’s head snapped up and he had both paws on the center console in a split second. “Did you say puppaccino? Mommy? Did someone say puppaccino?” And yes, he literally began licking his lips.
Best Laid Plans
When I got to the pick-up window, I endured the overwhelming disappointment emanating from Brutus when I declined their offer. I did accept two small dog treats instead – to which Brutus promptly turned up his nose. Nope. He knew what he wanted and it wasn’t a random hard breadstick.
Well, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes later, I noticed Brutus was licking his lips a lot more – and drooling a little – and I had no illusions that this was related to a puppaccino. No, I knew he was readying himself to do a purge.
And yes, once again, he quietly (I’ll never get over how much quieter dogs barf than cats and their histrionic heaving and acking) left the contents of his breakfast, which he’d eaten a good two and a half hours earlier, all over the center console of the car. He also managed to throw up a goodly pile on the dog bed, slightly on and perilously close to his sister.
This not being my first rodeo with this pup, I’d at least come prepared with a roll of paper towels, which I used to haphazardly mop up and consolidate the…evidence. (Thank goodness it doesn’t smell like people barf, is all I can say.) Brutus, looking alternately accusatory and remorseful, then curled up and tried to sleep.
Two minutes away from our destination, Pacha suddenly stood up and tried to get into my lap. While I sympathized with her desire to extricate herself from her brother’s embrace, I had a feeling she was headed for a similar destination. Stopping at the stop sign literally 100 yards away from our destination, Pacha blew lunch all over her front paws, the back of their seat, and the arm of my jacket.
Wow. Unlucky. I just had to laugh.
Ice Sliding – All Better! – Photo: L. Weikel
All’s Well
In spite of it all, we ended up having a wonderful walk along the – very smooshy – towpath. I should’ve taken a photo of them with their mega-muddy paws, nearly caked up to their ‘elbows.’
Once we got home and regaled Daddy with gory details of our adventure, we took another walk. This time, they purged themselves (no pun intended) of their muddy memories and engaged in some serious ice-sliding – a pastime growing more and more beloved on each frozen outing.
*Karl insists on keeping packs of mothballs in the car due to our experiences of having mice move in and use our vehicles as homes, especially during the winter. Even worse, they’ve been known to eat the wiring for snacks. A pretty unsustainable situation, but for which we all seem to be paying in degrees of nausea. It makes the answer to “Wanna go for a ride?” a lot less enthusiastic than it would be otherwise.
Not coyote bait tonight (Cletus) – Photo: L. Weikel
Coyotes
Just the other day, Karl and I marveled at the number of times random people brought up coyotes in casual conversation lately. Seriously. And the references have been eerily similar: “Watch your small animals. Coyotes are close.”
If we were in Arizona or New Mexico it would be one thing. But here we are, living in a suburb, if rural, (is there even such a thing as a rural suburb?) of Philadelphia.
When I was growing up, we never heard coyotes. I’m pretty sure they didn’t live in Pennsylvania – or if they did, I’m virtually certain they didn’t live in eastern PA. I distinctly remember being in my 30s before hearing my first coyotes, and we were in New Mexico at the time.
Probably wouldn’t mind a snack, but not a scratchy one
Things Change
Luckily for coyotes, like eagles and hawks, they seem to be making a huge resurgence into our area. This brief video report states that they’re now located in all 67 counties of the commonwealth. And a bit unsettlingly, it sounds like the coyotes that migrated here from out west over the years engaged in some ‘layovers’ (and illicit dalliances) with wolves along the way. Genetically speaking, at least some of the coyotes that are establishing populations here in Pennsylvania are part wolf, too.
I first mentioned coyotes in this post, back in 2019. And I’ve occasionally encountered them howling in the distance while out stargazing.
But over the past several weeks, mostly since the new year, we’ve heard their eerie howls echoing off the steep cliffs lining the Tohickon at least half a dozen times. One time was particularly humorous, because they were echoing and mimicking the wail of the firehouse siren a few miles away.
Coyote – Photo: Wikipedia
Past Two Weeks
But over the past two weeks, we’ve had at least four conversations with neighbors or hunters in the area. Everyone is starting to notice them.
Karl and I thought it seemed a bit over the top to hear people warn us to be careful of our animals. They made their comments with knowing glances toward the pups. I have to admit, I couldn’t imagine a coyote threatening Pacha or Brutus. Why would they go after them when there are so many deer and other wild animals around? Game that’s not attached by a long cord to a human seems a lot more desirable.
But you know what? Karl just came inside after taking Brutus out for a quick refresher. When he came in, he looked spooked. He heard coyotes in the field quite close, he said. They were howling and carrying on.
And while the ‘call of the wild’ didn’t seem to perturb Brutus in the least, we both decided to keep Cletus inside tonight. There’ve been too many random people telling us to protect our babies to turn a deaf ear to the warnings.
Short one this evening. I have a vague headache and I wonder if it’s related to the indecisive nature of the temperature outside over the past few days. First balmy, then frigid; pouring rain, massive puddles, swollen creeks and rivers. Tonight, utter clarity revealing the cosmos causes another plunge of temps.
I don’t think I’ve heard one car drive past our house tonight. People must be heeding the entreaties to stay home. It’s refreshing. People are always out tooling around when it’s snowing. But maybe everyone just decided that it’s Friday and, what the heck, they might as well just hunker down where they are.
Nothing’s worse than driving and suddenly realizing you’re on a sheet of ice. As soon as you feel that vague but unmistakable sense that there’s suddenly no traction between your vehicle’s tires and the surface of the road, a pit of terror strikes. It’s sort of like the plunge your stomach takes when you breach the top of a roller coaster.
It’s the sudden and unmistakable sense that, in that moment, you have no control over anything.
Swollen Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel
Swollen Tohickon
I made a pit stop to my beloved Tohickon Creek earlier this afternoon. I haven’t had a chance to sit beside her and just have a conversation with her in a few months. Yes, I visited – briefly – when I walked there a few weeks ago. But the sun was setting and there was a lot of snow and ice around and nowhere for me to just sit and ‘be.’
Communing with the creek wasn’t in the cards today, either. My usual spot was inaccessible. The Tohickon was overflowing her banks and her waters quite literally would’ve poured into my car had I even attempted to park there.
The mighty Lenape Sipu (Delaware River) was equally as swollen with muddy, opaque water coursing downstream. Chunks of logs and spiky broken tree limbs bobbed and swirled in the eddies caused by rocks and other obstacles hidden from view.
But even more troubling, knowing the temperatures were soon to plummet, were the sheets of water streaming across most of the roadways. So much water with nowhere to go.
Nights like tonight are the stuff of comforters and candlelight and gratitude for a warm home and a good book.
We’ve all faced it at one point or another. As regrettable as it is, it’s also inevitable. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. And that, my friends, is why I’m taking a moment to document this grievous moment. If it’s going to hurt, we might as well share it. It’s the last of my stash.
I’m writing about this tonight because I know, deep down, all of you can relate. Your temptation may not be a milk chocolate cashew turtle from Pierre’s. But surely you each have your weakness, your predilection that yearns to be sated when you realize life really is freaking short.
My attitude may sound cavalier, but I’m also brought up short.
Delayed Gratification
Yeah, I have only one more cashew turtle left to eat. And I probably won’t eat it tonight. I’ll hoard it a little longer (maybe a day or so at most) because I’m a little weird about delayed gratification.
Yikes; that’s probably way too much information to be sharing. But it’s true. I’ve been known to save the best bite for last only to have a puppy snatch that very last savory morsel clean off my plate when I was distracted for a moment. (The fact s/he was even close enough to my plate to do so is a subject for another time.)
But the fact remains that I’m someone who doesn’t like a good thing to end. So I drag stuff out. And it’s not just food-related, either. When I have a good book to read, I’m often torn between racing through the final chapter or several pages, devouring them with glee, or savoring each paragraph and taking a few days to lay the book to rest.
The danger in this, of course, is that one day I may not get the chance to complete anything ever again. What a shame it would be to leave that turtle uneaten. Or the book’s ending unappreciated. Or the story I always wanted to tell untold.
Grief Clarifies
A dear friend and her family recently suffered a sudden and tragic loss. Holding them in their grief (even if from afar), my thoughts have been with the one whose seat will be empty at the next reunion. They were only half a dozen years younger than I am, and at this stage of the game, that’s not a huge gap. I’ve contemplated their worries and stresses of late. Their dreams. Their goals yet unfulfilled.
Were they eating around their filet mignon, saving the rarest, juiciest, most tender piece for last?
From what I can tell in reading about them and even watching a video of them describing how they translated a lifelong creative passion into a fascinating career, what I keep coming back to is the warmth I saw in their eyes and the crinkles at the corners that spoke of kindness and laughter.
I hope they savored as much of their life as possible. At least, I hope there are very few uneaten turtles in their home, either literally or metaphorically. May we all make a point of appreciating the bounty of our now and indulging in the last of our stash. To life.
Ten of Cups from The Greenwood Tarot (Mark Ryan & Chesca Potter)
Imbolc
In my post the other day, I wrote of the new moon, the beginning of the Chinese New Year (Water Tiger), and the beginning of February. I failed to mention the Celtic holiday of Imbolc (or Imbolg), which traditionally begins at sundown on February 1st and ends at sundown on February 2nd. Considering my nearly thoroughbred Irish lineage, this was an egregious oversight.
Imbolc derives from a Gaelic word meaning ‘in the belly.’ And occurring as it does at the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, it represents that time when life has been seeded and is quietly growing in the warm darkness of the womb (of cows, ewes, and – of course – humans).
In addition to the informational link above, I’d also like to introduce you to some dear friends, Karen Ward and Sean Cantwell, of Sli an Chroi (Pathway of the Heart) through this short video. In it, Sean and Karen describe the significance of Imbolc and offer a lovely ceremony to honor this time of year in our lives.
The link I’m giving is from Imbolc 2021, but the ceremony described for us to do for each other and our homes, and also offered to us as viewers, are timeless. They can be performed each and every Imbolc.
Especially Powerful
Since Imbolc always occurs (astronomically – as the midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox) at a technically calculated moment between February 1 and February 3 (the precise moment changes each year), it doesn’t always coincide with a new moon, as it does this year. And the Chinese New Year always begins on the first new moon following the first full moon of the year, so that, too, changes every year.
As a result, the synchronicity of these astronomical events is what makes the past couple of days particularly powerful energetically. A new moon, a new year, and the turning of the season toward spring all coinciding to call in and celebrate new beginnings, fresh starts, and a cleansing of all the stagnant stuff of winter.
Tarot Card for Imbolc
I thought I’d choose a card from a deck I have that feels especially connected to the Earth and the Old Ways: the Greenwood Tarot. What message would the Ancestors like us to focus upon as we begin to emerge from the darkest and shortest days of the year and begin to notice a quickening within? What are we gestating?
Ten of Cups – Happiness
What a lovely (and frankly unexpected) message to receive. Dare we take this as a glimmer of hope that there is, indeed, light in our future? Is new life and growth (all the sprouting leaves and grass on the hillside) on the horizon? Will our thirst for truth and accountability finally be quenched by the streams of water gently cascading into our waiting cups?
One thing I like about including in my posts photos of the cards I choose is the ability it gives us to magnify the images and really take a look at the details the artists provide. In the case of this card, not only are there a number of different trees (that undoubtedly have signficance and which I therefore should identify), but there’s also a couple – a green couple – standing at the base of the hillside, embracing each other, side by side, joyfully welcoming the cascading water filling their cups.
This card feels like a literal breath of fresh air, blessing of flowing water, and joy; a culmination of what we’ve been hoping would arrive; a fulfillment of our emotional needs and greatest yearnings.
I’m grateful for the appearance of this card at this Imbolc. Gestating happiness. May it be so.
Yard heart created solely by animals and birds – Photo: L. Weikel
Cool Stories
The snowfall we received over the weekend has yet to melt. There’s been some slight thawing during the day and re-freezing at night and the roads are clear, but overall, there’s still about 4” or so on fields and lawns and edges of forests. And those 4” have revealed some pretty cool stories – and provided fodder for others.
The first amazing story the snow told us today along our walk was that a raptor took a snowy plunge for prey. It was hard to get close to the obvious imprint without messing anything up, but as you can see below, we found footprints leading right up to the ‘kill site.’ (I can’t think of any better euphemism, sorry.)
Raptor Action
As you can see above, there’s an imprint in the snow of where a raptor quite obviously dove headfirst into the snow to snag a meal. Whether or not the creature who created the footprints leading right up to the kill site actually became the meal is unclear.
Taken together, it is obvious that a dive attack was made. The only optimistic prediction I can make (for those who hope the prey escaped) is that there didn’t appear to be a drop of blood or errant fluff of fur or tuft of feather anywhere near the site.
Plunge site and wing imprint (lower left) – Photo: L. Weikel
Cool Imprint
One bonus this particular snowy imprint offered us was the wing imprint just above the plunge site. It’s clearly the wing of either an owl or a hawk. I’m in awe that we found such a beautiful site tonight. I only wish I were a better tracker.
Cool Stories – Closeup of wing imprint – Photo: L. Weikel
Footprints leading to ‘fated’ plunge site – Photo: L. Weikel
Yard Heart
Finally, as can be seen in the photo leading off this blog post, I discovered the shape of a heart in our yard, created solely from the footprints of animals. I’m sure it wasn’t the puppies. Perhaps it was created by squirrels. This great big heart was clearly decorated by the prints of lots of birds.
Below is a closeup of the bird footprints and part of the prints of whatever animal it was that created the heart. Perhaps it was squirrels. Could be fox – although there are other prints in the yard that look more like fox. Deer prints, located elsewhere in our yard, are obvious – their hooves each make heart shapes in and of themselves.
Yes, my sense is that the heart was created by squirrels.
And I wonder if they left me a love note. I’ve put out at least 5 lbs. of peanuts in the past two days. A lot, I know. But it was darn cold out. Perhaps this is their way of showing me just how much they appreciated the feast. I’d like to think so. Makes for some cool stories, if nothing else.
Closeup of animal footprints creating heart shape and bird prints decorating the heart – Photo: L. Weikel
Is that a Polar Bear? No! It’s a Polar Pig! – Photo: L. Weikel
Polar Bear
Do you see what I see? Karl and I were walking yesterday and couldn’t believe what the snowstorm had delivered to us. A POLAR BEAR!
I know; I know. They don’t usually meander as far south as Pennsylvania. But hey – our eyes wouldn’t deceive us, would they?
Well, maybe they would.
Because upon closer inspection (actually, it didn’t take long, especially after listening for a few moments to the eructations emanating from the beast’s mouth), we realized this creature that galloped across the snow-filled field to greet us was a pig. A hog. A ‘tame’ boar. A porcine ambassador.
Cutie – Photo: L. Weikel
Delighted
I’m beyond excited – and delighted – to embrace the arrival of this new neighbor. I’m reminded of the posts I wrote back in 2019, when the Chinese New Year was ushering in the Year of the Boar. There were a number of pigs making an appearance at that time. But then in 2021, we were dismayed when we realized no pigs would be coming to bond with us that year.
Judging from the greeting we received from this beast as soon as it saw us, I have a strong sense we’ll probably develop a relationship. And if ‘it’ is a she and she has piglets…? Oh, man, I’ll be a goner.
If you have an opportunity to get up close and personal with a pig, there is no question these are sentient beings. Sentient and absolutely social. My goodness, we’d never even ‘met’ this pig before yesterday and when I called out to it, s/he literally bounded across the field, through the snow, and came right up to the fence to talk to me.
Trotting by – Photo: L. Weikel
Year of the Tiger
But this is a little off-topic from the Year of the Tiger, which begins tomorrow. Unlike when we kicked off the Year of the Boar, I don’t think I’m going to be running into any tigers on our walks anytime soon.
In looking back on my posts, I see that I’ve actually recognized the beginning of each new cycle in the Chinese calendar over the past three years. I didn’t think I had. What I was surprised to realize was how our entry into the Year of the Rat took place during the first impeachment trial of the now defeated president. And then last year, of course, as we entered the Year of the Ox, we were still trying to regain our composure after witnessing an insurrection and attempted coup.
We can only hope that the Year of the Tiger will bring substantially more clarity and comprehensive understanding of just what was planned and attempted last year. And if that clarity reveals criminal conduct? That accountability is demanded and justice meted out. We can hope.
