She roams the barnyard like a small statured hippo from neolithic years, emitting small grunts, a step to the right, a shift of her mass to the left, all the while her tail is swishing. It is the best time of day in the barnyard, when the sun is setting, the flies have lessened, the heat is past and the distant coastal range is lit up.
But it is the tail - the tail! - that brings such delight to me, the pig watcher.
