By: Squealexander Hamilton
I would like to formally announce that we have acquired a new resident on the farm.
Her name is Majesty.
Yes. Majesty.
I assume we are now living in a monarchy.
Majesty is a horse, and not just any horse. Her original job in life was an arabber, which I am told means she once pulled fancy carriages through cities like a very elegant, very responsible adult. Now she has retired to our herd, where her primary responsibilities include being extremely sweet, quietly judging everyone, and immediately fitting in like she’s been here forever.
She is, unfortunately for the rest of us, very calm and polite. Which only makes the rest of us look feral by comparison.
Welcome to the farm, Majesty. I look forward to supervising you from a safe, straw-covered distance.
And thank you Mrs. Nancy for sponsering her care.
The Cold That Attacks Your Face
Now let’s discuss the weather betrayal.
We had our first really, really cold snap. The weather people said the low was 17 degrees with a “feels like” of 3 degrees. But I personally saw 13 degrees on our thermometer, which means one of these numbers is lying, and it is definitely not me.
My official description of this temperature is as follows:
“It is the kind of cold that hurts your nose when you inhale, freezes your thoughts halfway through forming them, and makes you immediately question every life choice that led you outdoors.”
You breathe in, and your sinuses lock up like, “Absolutely not.”
Your lungs hesitate.
Your soul briefly leaves your body.
And your ears consider falling off.
This is not brisk.
This is not crisp.
This is aggressive air.
Snow: 3 Inches of Drama
We also received about 3 inches of snow.
The humans were very excited. They said, “It’s good when it snows and stays cold. It keeps the mud away.”
This is hilarious.
Because while the mud may be temporarily gone, it is simply hibernating. Waiting. Plotting. And when it returns, it will be wetter, deeper, and emotionally prepared.
I understand the human logic. I do. But I would like to remind everyone that mud is my primary recreational activity. Snow-covered, frozen mud is just dirt that hurts your feet and steals your joy.
The Mud Suit Crisis
Naturally, I have been thinking about solutions.
I would like to play in the mud.
But I would also like to remain unfrozen.
This is how the Mud Suit™ concept was born.
In my mind, it is a masterpiece:
- Fully insulated
- Flexible for zoomies
- Mudproof but stylish
- Possibly with pockets for snacks
I was deep into the design phase when Krystin gently reminded me that if I invent a mud suit, she will have to put it on me.
This stopped me cold.
Because I do not enjoy clothing.
I do not enjoy being dressed.
I do not enjoy sweaters, coats, or anything that requires lifting my feet one at a time.
Putting clothes on me is a two-person job involving negotiation, betrayal, and at least one dramatic flop.
So now I am torn.
Do I want warmth?
Yes.
Do I want mud?
Absolutely.
Do I want Krystin touching my legs and saying, “Hold still, Hamilton”?
No.
No, I do not.
For now, the Mud Suit™ remains a theoretical invention, and I will continue protesting winter from my straw nest while glaring at the frozen ground.
Atlas, Texas & The Great Minivan Regret
Before I conclude this weather-based injustice report, I must address Atlas.
Yes. Atlas.
The last puppy to find his forever home.
I would like it on record that I deeply regret not jumping into the minivan and going with him. I considered it. Briefly. The door was open. Opportunity was present. I hesitated. I trusted the humans.
This was a mistake.
Atlas is now in Texas. TEXAS. A place where it is not 17 degrees and your nose does not immediately file a lawsuit when you breathe. A place where the sun still remembers how to do its job.
The farm received an update on Atlas. He is helping build a barn. A BARN. He was pictured working alongside humans, looking absolutely exhausted, paws tired, face worn, soul temporarily depleted.
For one full minute, I felt bad.
I even considered calling PETA.
I thought, “Is this puppy being overworked? Is this forced labor? Is he being exploited for his large, sturdy body and good attitude?”
And then I remembered.
I am currently:
- Frozen
- Mud-deprived
- Wrapped in straw
- Breathing air that hurts
And Atlas is:
- Warm
- Loved
- Sleeping in a HUMAN BED
- In TEXAS
So let me be clear.
I would trade places with him in a heartbeat. I would build that barn. I would carry those boards. I would nap dramatically in the shade afterward and accept praise.
Atlas, if you are reading this:
Please know that I miss you.
Please know that I almost went with you.
Please know that if there is ever another minivan, I will not hesitate again.
Final Thoughts from a Chilly Pig
Majesty has joined the herd and is already winning hearts.
The farm is cold enough to offend internal organs.
The snow is pretty but suspicious.
The mud is on pause.
And I am very close to becoming both an inventor and a fashion icon.
Winter has arrived.
Snortfully yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton– Senior Pig of the Property, Weather Truth Teller, Mud Logistics Manager & Reluctant Fashion Model