Whenever I go in their pasture, the pigs insist on pressing their wet and usually dirty snouts on my legs. A friend of mine calls this “pig kisses.”
When I take them their breakfast, the pigs start drooling when they see me coming. I mean, they don’t just drool. They DROOL–emitting what seems like bucketfuls of their foamy pig spit. It’s a pity I haven’t been able to capture this salivary spectacle in a photograph yet. I’m sure you are all disappointed.
So once a week Cherie washes my work bibs–that being the maximum period she allows me to wear them between washings. Yesterday morning when I put them on, they were crisp and clean and as I headed out for chores.
But alas they weren’t to remain unspoiled very long. When I entered the pigs’ pasture one of them came up to me and began rubbing her head up and down my pants leg, liberally soaking it with pig slobber. It was a particularly sloppy pig kiss.
Here she is afterwards, mocking me.
An occupational hazard I suppose.