A Late (but Justified) Update
Well, well, well… look who finally got around to posting again.
Yes, I know, it’s been a minute. Or as my fans like to say, “Hamilton, where have you been?”
To which I reply: surviving.
See, while my humans, Krystin, Chris, and Paul, were off gallivanting on some kind of luxury mudless cruise (unthinkable), I was here holding down the fort. And before you worry… no, I didn’t freeze. In fact, I was blessed with the ultimate cold-weather upgrade: a brand new bale of straw. Thick, golden, and delightfully toasty. I sank into it like royalty reclining on a rustic throne.
Honestly, if I’d known all it took to get fresh bedding was for the entire human leadership team to vanish for ten days, I would’ve packed their suitcases myself.
The Frosty Frontlines
Now, don’t get me wrong, we did get a few cold nights while they were gone. The kind that makes your ears curl and your snout feel like it’s made of ice cubes. But Grandma Donna and Great Aunt Lynn? They crushed it.
Every day they made their rounds, checking waters, tossing feed, and most importantly, keeping the royal pig (me) comfortable and fed. I’ll admit it: I had my doubts, but they’ve earned at least three out of four hooves of approval.
Still, it’s not easy living without the usual chaos. No Krystin sprinting across the yard yelling, “Who left the gate open?” No Chris accidentally dropping snacks within snout range. No Paul out there fixing something that probably didn’t need fixing, but sure made a lot of noise anyway. Just calm. Quiet. Predictable.
Honestly… it was a little suspicious.
The Visitor Nobody Asked For
Now, speaking of chaos… Lynn didn’t come alone. She brought her dog.
A perfectly fine, respectable creature by most standards… except to Sadie.
For reasons unknown to science, Sadie decided that Lynn’s dog was secretly possessed by a demon, or maybe an alien wearing a dog suit. I don’t know what the poor guy did… maybe looked at her wrong, maybe sniffed her food bowl, maybe just existed within a 20-foot radius, but from that moment on, Sadie declared war.
Every time she spotted him, it was the same scene: her puffed up like a lioness, glaring daggers, and muttering things under her breath that I’m pretty sure would violate FCC guidelines if translated. Meanwhile, Lynn’s dog just stood there, confused, tail wagging like, “What’d I do?”
From my pen, I watched it all unfold like an episode of Real Housewives of the Farmyard. Sadie growling, Lynn negotiating peace treaties, Donna sighing into her coffee. Pure entertainment.
Honestly, I don’t blame Sadie. I’m protective, too. If a strange dog came waltzing into my mudside manor, I’d raise a stink (literally and figuratively). Still, I have to admit, it was nice to have a little drama to spice up the quiet.
The Great Human Migration
Eventually, word spread across the farm: the humans were gone.
Ten whole days. Ten. Do you know how long that is in pig years? Practically a lifetime.
I heard whispers that they were on something called a cruise. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, so I did some digging (in the mud, obviously). From what I can tell, a cruise is basically a giant floating hotel where humans eat constantly, nap between meals, and brag about sunsets. So… basically, what I do, just with fewer hooves and more buffet lines.
Still, I have questions.
Where exactly were they cruising to? Why does anyone voluntarily leave solid ground? And most importantly, why wasn’t I invited? Do they not realize how good I’d look in a captain’s hat?
Personally, I think it’s all a front. My working theories are as follows:
- They went on a top-secret mission to recruit new watermelon suppliers.
- It was a “research expedition” to study tropical mud consistency.
- Or, most likely, it was just a “Feed Convention at Sea,” where humans discuss important topics like snack distribution and why pigs should never be left unsupervised for ten days.
The Homecoming
When the great travelers finally returned, the farm erupted in celebration. Sadie barked, the chickens squawked, and I squealed just once… strictly for dramatic effect. They came back looking suspiciously relaxed, talking about blue water and fancy food while I was here bravely enduring chilly nights and canine politics.
Still, I’ll admit, it’s good to have them home. Krystin gave me an extra-long scratch behind the ears, Chris dropped a snack “by accident,” and Paul patted my head and said, “Hi Hammy,” which I choose to interpret as “I missed you terribly.”
For a moment, all felt right again.
Just don’t tell them I missed them. I have a reputation to maintain.
Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton
Abandoned Pig Survivor. Cruise Conspiracy Theorist. Straw Aficionado.