We took our crew to the sandbar over the weekend. If you’re new here, the crew is my boyfriend, Michael, and myself, our 13-year-old Jack Russel named Casey and our two pigs, Paxton, 10 months, and Cooper, 9 months.
It was Cooper’s first time on the boat, he’s been with us for only a few months. Pax is a seasoned pro.
We had the area to ourselves for a bit but eventually a family pulled up next to us and hopped off their boat. It didn’t take long until they noticed our pigs.
It could have been Cooper’s screaming (as sweet as he is, that boy is loud!) or Paxton’s big butt sunbathing on the boat deck. You know, normal sandbar things.
The two little girls with the family were infatuated with our piggies, and one said:
“I don’t want to eat pigs anymore.”
What? Music to my ears.
Her mom said they were having a pig roast for New Year’s Eve. (Insert eye roll.)
But within 10 minutes of hanging out with Paxton and Cooper the mom said:
“Oh fine, we’re having chicken for dinner instead.”
Yes, mom! (There will still be a dead animal on the table but at least it won’t be a pig. That’s SO speciesist of me to say.)
OK, I know they will probably still eat pig for dinner, but if we can open people’s minds even just a little to the idea that it’s absolutely absurd we eat these amazing animals, then I know we are doing something right.
In other news, Cooper enjoyed the day, I think, and Paxton was actually nice to him. He even let Cooper sit with him on the boat ride home.
Paxton spent most of his time digging for seed pods because all he wants to do is eat (I get it, I do too.). He also ate mangrove roots and a random tree branch.
Casey spent most of her time looking for a new family. She has two pig brothers after being an only child for a long time, so I guess I don’t blame her.