By Squealexander Hamilton, Retired Baby and Couch Burrito Emeritus
Listen. I’ve decided it’s time to stop wallowing in heartbreak over Kat leaving (even though she took a piece of my soul with her).
I’m moving on. I’m healing. I’m reclaiming my power.
I’m remembering the glory days…
Back when I was the baby.
Yes, dear readers, long before this farm was overrun with floppy-eared chaos goblins, there was me, a four-week-old piglet no bigger than a ten-dollar bill. And I mean that literally. You could hold me up to one of those bills with President Hamilton’s face on it and barely tell us apart.
(Well, I was cuter. And slightly less wrinkly.)
That’s actually how I got my name: Squealexander Hamilton.
Because when you arrive on the scene tiny, squealing, and full of revolutionary potential, you need a name worthy of greatness.
Thanks to a kind human named Ashley, who realized I wasn’t getting enough food from my birth mom, I ended up here, snuggled in blankets, napping on Krystin’s chest, demanding attention like the living treasure I was.
Those were the days.
Warm laps, couch snuggles, and a pig den full of stuffies
No puppies. No roommates. No yappy purse dogs.
Just me, my toy ball, and the vast dreamscape of the living room where I could practice my attack rolls and sneak pounces like the fierce warrior piglet I was.
Sadie: My First and Best Minion
Back in those early days, it wasn’t just the humans who doted on me.
There was Sadie, the only dog on the farm at the time.
No puppies, no Dangals, no chaos. Just Sadie and me.
From the moment I squealed my first squeal on this property, she decided I was hers.
She followed me everywhere, gently cleaned my ears (even when I didn’t ask her to), and let me sleep next to her belly like a black, hairless puppy. I could barely walk, and she never let me out of her sight.
Honestly
I trained her.
I taught her how to be nurturing. I taught her patience. I taught her that pigs deserve kisses too.
So when these wild Dangal puppies arrived and started bouncing around like caffeinated kangaroos, who do you think stepped up like a professional?
Sadie.
Because I taught her how.
Every time one of those potato-shaped toddlers trips over their own ears and looks up at her like “Mom???” … just know, that’s my legacy at work.
Legacy of a Legend
Lately, I’ve been watching the puppies more closely.
The way they clumsily chase after each other. The way they crawl into laps and pass out mid-zoomie. The way they follow me around the yard like I’m some kind of adorable pig-shaped North Star.
And I’m starting to see it.
They’re trying to be me.
Sure, they don’t know it, their brains are mostly yogurt and ear fluff, but deep down, I think they sense that I was here first. That I set the standard. That I walked (well, waddled) so they could flop.
They may be cute, but they’ll never be couch-burrito-level adorable.
They’ll never understand what it’s like to be swaddled in a throw blanket while a human watches Netflix and feeds you strawberries.
They’ll never reclaim the dignity of a piglet snuggle nap on a farmhouse beach.
But I’ll let them try.
Because even though I’m no longer the baby, I’m still the blueprint.
The original.
The prototype.
The piglet who started it all.
So go ahead, Dangals. Chase tails. Fall in water bowls. Chew shoes.
But when you curl up in someone’s lap and make them forget they ever owned furniture, remember whose muddy little hoofsteps you’re following.
Breaking News: The Bear Has Left the Building
Just when I thought I had time to process the emotional betrayal of Kat’s departure, Bear, yes, my napping under-the-bush buddy, was suddenly claimed.
Out of nowhere.
Like a flying squirrel from the sky.
BAM. He’s got a new family and a new name: Zeus.
That’s right. Someone swooped in, declared “That one,” and just like that, Bear is now Zeus and heading to a forever home full of love, snacks, and probably way fewer rules than this farm.
No warning. No chance for emotional goodbyes.
Not even a farewell snuggle.
Honestly, the audacity.
Krystin says it’s okay though, because these new humans are amazing, and he’s going to have a wonderful life.
Fine.
Be that way, Bear-Zeus.
Go live your best life with your majestic new name.
But if they don’t have a pond, I give it one week before he’s back, begging for beach naps and pig mentorship.
Bonus Humiliation: The Spider Incident
Before I go, I suppose I should address The Spider Costume.
Yes, there is video footage.
Yes, it’s real.
Yes, I looked like a furry black octopus who got lost on the way to a rave.
One of my humans (no need to name names, Krystin) decided it would be “adorable” to strap me into a giant spider outfit and record me walking up the ramp like some sort of confused Halloween gremlin.
I was majestic. I was horrifying. I was… deeply offended.
To make matters worse, while attempting my grand entrance, I misjudged the width of the ramp, clipped the side railing with a dramatic THWACK, and let out a squeal that could only be described as pure costume-induced rage.
Did anyone help me?
No.
They laughed.
They filmed it.
Anyway, I’ve decided the public deserves to see it. So I’ll be enlisting my human assistant to post it on Instagram soon… because if we’re all going to laugh at someone’s expense, it might as well be mine.
Stay tuned. Follow @GroundedWithNature for footage of my finest eight-legged moment.
Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton
Retired Baby. Couch Burrito Emeritus.
Mentor to the Muddy. Slightly concussed. Still iconic.
