The Day of a Fat Pig

 

The fresh air fills my lungs every morning when I wake up. There’s nothing better as I nose out of the sty, waiting for the farmer to top up the trough. None of the others are awake yet. I’m laying here gazing too where the field disappears against the backdrop of Snowdonia, I can hear the birds singing and smell the sea…ooo….look at that massive puddle of mud. I do love mud. And food, but mostly mud. I bet I can get to the trough without waking the others up, I can hear the farmer, but I’ve got to roll in that mud. This is too much, I need a nap, but look at that grass.

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