I have always felt for a pig in heat. During those few days every month, their whole world turns upside down. Their gluttony shifts from food to sex, from filling their gut to filling holes further south, and nothing else interests them. They don’t eat. They don’t run from strange things. They stand and stare and hope that each passing creature — be it a tractor or a man or a dog — will have what it takes to scratch that itch. Their impulse for self preservation — maximize caloric intake, fear potential predators — is short circuited in favor of making babies.
I can commiserate.Read More