You might get a Rosie

After a reprieve, it is back at fundraising with the final 80% of our hay due in the next couple weeks. Going to be doing some print and art giveaways in coming weeks. And who wouldn't want a Rosie gracing their wall? I miss her royal grumpiness...sometimes I forget she is gone and will still look over at her last bed of straw expecting her to pop out of it....grumpily. She would have really liked The Grumpiest Old Men, wouldn't she?

Donate here on the blog, or on Facebook, or by check [let me know if you are sending a check so I can count your name in the art give away. We will need about %3000 for the final hay, so if you want to do a matching donation on any of these print give-aways just let me know.

This print is 9 x 12 and has a retail value of $125.

Heaven just got a bit grumpier...goodbye, Rosie

"She is gone," I told them.

As I sat with the body I could here the news spreading amongst the animals,

"Rosie is dead,"

"Rosie has died,"

"It's over,"

and on and on until the last creature was informed.

I placed a drop of oil on her body,

"May you not feel any more pain, and may you never be cold, and may you find a good cloud, and may you see Stevie again," I said.

I wrapped her body in her pink blanket, made just for her, embroidered with words so carefully placed,

"The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig ~ Rosie"

We placed her in our clam sled, and began the slow march to the front garden, a place we had gathered before over the last couple of years. As the animals stood in front of the freshly dug hole in the Earth, Martyn helped me lower Rosie's body into the ground, her pink blanket covering her to keep her forever warm. I placed a shroud over her eyes, a shroud made from Assumpta's wool. Burial items had come from afar, and I placed each one, thoughtfully, and carefully around her body. I placed feathers with her for flight, a toy llama for safety, a pig for a reminder of what she once was, and on the top, a red rose.

Earnest stood of to the side, he had dressed in his formal cape and bow tie. The goose, who had slept amongst Rosie in the last two weeks, also came. White Dog watched. Pino and Paco both said their goodbyes,

"I remember when you arrived," said Pino. "I remember when you could run."

"I understand you," said Paco. He placed a slip of paper in the grave, with a special, private poem to Rosie.

Earnest said not one word.

We covered the body in ancient soil, perhaps Civil War heros who once lived here had touched it long ago.

When the final dirt was spread, Opie pointed to the sky,

"Look, it's Rosie, she has beautiful polk-a-dots now!"

The animals had paid their final respects, and as they left they all bowed to the nearby grave of The Head Troll. Martyn returned to the house.

I knelt down, and whispered one last time,

"Oh, Rosie!"

As I returned to the house, it was still, and clear, and crisp. I heard a rustling, clouds appeared over head, tree branches snapped, and a distinctive hrumf-grrr-arrrr-hrumpf sound echoed in my hear.

Heaven just got a little grumpier.

Burial shrouds for a pig...preparing to let go

A beautiful item for Rosie's resting spot from Lisa Hofmann

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned on the Apifera social media pages that it was becoming clear to me that I have to face facts about Rosie the pig. Both Martyn and I feel that it is becoming less of a 'good' life for her and I might have to put my big girl pants on and help her to the next realm. Rosie is old, crippled, blind and her hind end is weaker and weaker. The vet said a couple years ago it could even be a spinal issue. She mainly sleeps, and this summer never left the barn. With another cold winter approaching, I worry that she can't properly watch out for herself as she tries to stay warm. She is not as good at making her pig bed [covering herself in huge mounds of straw]. Each night I try to make sure she is fully covered, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get up and move around and get uncovered and not adequately recovered.

We tried a blanket for her, made graciously by a pig lover who likes to make pot bellied pig blankets. But even though I altered it slightly, to help her from tripping up on it, she kept getting stuck in it, due to her weak condition. I felt it was unsafe. She now will trip more, and falls every now and then. She trembles too, all summer, like Katherine Hepburn did.

So, I feel I have to be strong and do what is right for her. I am not sure why I am having such a tough time with this one. Each animal is precious of course, some get us in the heart strings worse than others. Some of you might not know Rosie's story, but I will tell you that she is a very difficult pig. She really doesn't act like all the other pigs I know. She is grumpy and has been grumpy since she landed at Sanctuary One after her elder owner died. Rosie had been living like a royal highness in the house, in a room with her own bed and furniture. When she got to the sanctuary, she was so grumpy no other animals would have anything to do with her-nor she them, except one crippled goat, Stevie, who ended up coming to Apifera with Rosie. That is a whole 'nother story, a good one too.

So she has been a challenge. No vets liked to work on her, nail trims were impossible and I'd spend enormous amounts of time trying different regimes to get basic care done, even giving her beer-it was a fancy micro brew and she didn't like it, Marcella drank it for her. After about a year, she even quit sleeping with Stevie, she really preferred her own suite, and showed me that in no uncertain terms-I think too she felt safer and was afraid of getting knocked around and was most likely already losing her site. When we came to Maine, Rosie was already getting old, and I wondered if I was doing her a disservice by bringing her to a cold climate. But I did, and she seemed to thrive here that first spring and summer, even venturing out to flirt with Earnest in the sunshine through the fence.

But by the next year, we noticed she really was pretty blind, and she couldn't go out and wander near the barn even, because she often tripped and fell. She mainly...sleeps.

So I told people that I was going to make a burial blanket for her. I didn't want to think of her in the earth all cold, even though she will be dead and at peace, I won't be, and I thought making a burial item, a ritual for those of us left behind, would help me begin to let go. I told people they too could sew small items and I could attach them to the burial shroud, or include them. One friend is making a knit cover to place over her eyes, before we place earth on her-I had told her that was my ritual, and she is making it out of Assumpta's wool. I received two quilted stitched pieces from followers, shown here, that just got me! And another came today that is lovely.

Rosie is going to be okay. I know she will. I think the reason I'm having a bit of trouble with letting go is...she still is sort of symbolic of my relationship with my father, and she was my first pig. So many 'firsts' happened out West at the first Apifera. My dad was in hospice when I brought Rosie to the farm, and I would lather her up in sunscreen and oil [she has a skin issue and always has] and it reminded me of my father's dry skin who often was in pain in the last months due to it, but the nurses would put soothing lotions on him. So as I cared for my grumpy pig, my father lay in hospice and I could not travel to him, but I thought of him through Rosie. Her personality is also like my father-a heart of gold covered in layers of grumpy thoughts. But I loved him, and I love her, even though she refuses belly rubs, and just wants to be alone.

So, we have talked about 'when' and 'where' and I won't announce that until the deed is over and she is on her way to a heaven where maybe everyone will be grumpy and she will feel very happy-grumpy. It is complicated too that she is a muse and always has been. But muses must rest. And it would be wrong of me to keep her alive for my own selfish reasons...and I also know that if she began to suffer in the winter I would be upset with myself, and she probably will.

She is a very unusual animal. I saw a photo of her that was taken in her prime, her hair was thick and she was out and about in the sun. Her hair today is very thin, her rear end is weak and she can hardly walk with out stopping or tripping. I know the vet agrees.

The items people are sending are helping me, and honoring her. It will be hard that day, but, a relief for her, and me when she is free of her old body. You can still send things-even little trinkets, buttons, toys-things that will give her help on her next journey. But don't wait too long. Winter is coming.

Rosie the pig
c/o Apifera Farm
315 Waldoboro RD, Bremen ME 04551

A letter that made me cry came with a little quilted piece

"Rosie! Rosie, where are you?!"

I had one of those heart stopping animal moments last night in the outer barn. I had done my nighttime feedings and chores with the sheep and equines and made my way over to Rosie's private suite. I always check on her even though she doesn't get any feed at night.

But there was no Rosie.

No problem, I ventured out to the new barn addition, which Rosie often meanders to for sun naps.

But still, I did not see Rosie.

This pig can not just vanish. While my other pigs could easily break out of this barn, Rosie is a delicate wildflower incapable of such normal pig behavior.

I looked under hay that had been left on the floor. No Rosie.

I turned, and there she was, a Sleeping Beauty like no other. She had ventured to another part of the barn, an area that had recently been filled with hay, but last weekend we created a semi loft to get more hay off the pallets, and better moving room for woman and animal.

It was the sweetest image-I took these photos. She did not even wake up, she slept through my three minutes of bewilderment. I sat with her for a spell, she hardly let out a grumpf.

Oh! Rosie!

The blessing of daily faces

It's a blessing to live amongst such a diversity of souls with faces that express their own peace each day, because they just get to be.

Misfit faces...for you

We are $1138 away from making up for the cost of the hay we brought in that will get us through next spring. Hay is probably our most important thing, besides love...and water...and care...and loyalty....and time....and pasture maintenance....and fence maintenance...and hoof and feet trims....vacinations....did I mention time?

But it is time well spent.

This morning I sat in the barn, a light misty rain falling, sitting with Old Sophie, and the pig nearby covered in hay and snoring. It was so peaceful. I have found I am really settling in with the barns and land here, and I am taking more ten minute moments like this. I am scheduling myself so that, well, I don't have to rush, or rarely have to rush. I've done my rushing and am still capable of it if I have to be, but when you are rushed with animals, it always leads to chaos-because, well, they are not rushed.

I hope these images might bring you a momentary smile, and sense of peace, to help you along in your day.

I'll be giving away another print in the coming week-so anyone donating at least $20 will have their name put in a hat.

The-World's-Grumpiest-But-I'm-Fine-As-I-Am-Pig turns another pig year...grumpily

Today is Rosie's 10th birthday.

If you had told me way back when I first brought Rosie home that a] she'd live this long, and b] I was going to drive her across the country from Oregon to Maine at some point, well, I might have pig snorted.

As one of my former vets said,

"She is lucky she came to you, I'm not sure anyone else would have handled her all these years."

It is true, she is grumpy. She is not like my other pigs who enjoy belly rubs, sun naps on my lap, or a certain amount of polite conversation after breakfast. When Rosie first arrived, she walked the barnyard more, but always with a grumpy cloud above her. It was never a problem, because she stayed out of the way, and preferred to be with Stevie the Kissing Goat, or by herself in a hay bed of her liking. Her care became more of a challenge when her first foot trim was due. I tried everything to get that pig to cooperate. I even gave her beer, an old farm trick-she refused it. I took a day to get one toe done, but it was better than nothing. The next time, I had my vet come out and it took three of us, with a pig snare, to the tune of $175. For the record, I am not one to pay $175 to have a pig's toes done, and I was slightly taken aback by the cost, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Each summer, I lathered her in sunscreen and oils to protect her skin from burning and to help her chronic skin condition. As she aged, and spent more time inside, it became less necessary, but she still needs her ears treated.

In time, Rosie became more of a recluse, and seemed to prefer that. One day I found her in the rain, shivering, far from her normal stall. I somehow got her into Old Barn, and she never left. I tried every spring to push her out into sun, but she liked her private area, away from Eleanor and Marcella and Earnest. I'm sure the other pigs shoved her around and she just isn't a fighter of other animals. She tolerated chickens, and me-on certain days.

It came time for us to move to Maine. I had many discussion with my vets. I was unsure if it was the right thing to move her. But it was not an option to rehome her, never. Nobody would have tolerated her. I just have a gene in me that allows me to be a punching bag for certain things-like grumpy pigs. On the day all the animals were micro chipped, we saved her for last. Somehow, we got it done, with a lot of grumpy words flung our way.

Any vet who has ever had to help me with Rosie, always remembers her,

"Do you still have that grumpy pig?"

Yep, I do. And she is turning nine. Which for her is getting old. For breeding pigs that would be ancient, for her, a spayed, pampered lass, it's like being 75, I guess.

The thing is, Rosie and I have had our ups and downs like any friendship. There were times in Oregon where I really was getting fed up. I worked so hard to make adjustments for her, and she was just plain...difficult. Even though she makes a lot of noise, she has never tried to bite me, or act threatening to anyone.

She is just grumpy.

I questioned if the trip to Maine would do her in. A five day-six night journey, where she would ride, alone, in a handbill princess pig palace in the back of the truck. The minute we got her in there, she went to sleep. She seemed to actually like her new arrangement. On our journey, when we stopped at gas stations, she would awaken, and people would hear sounds coming from our truck bed, but couldn't see her in her enclosed suite.

"That's just our pig," we said matter of factly.

"Hey, they have a pig in there!" and sometimes we'd open the lid of her suite so people could see her nose sicking out of straw.

When we first arrived in 2016, Rosie continued to live in the truck bed in her private wooden hut, and for about two weeks wherever we went–to the hardware store, or out to lunch–people would be curious what they heard in that truck bed.

"Oh that's just our pig," we said without concern.

Eventually, she was moved to the chicken coop, temporarily, and did fine, but the chickens began picking her scaly skin [she has a skin condition], so we finally arranged a special private suite for her once the new barn was done. She sleeps side by side with the sheep, and Benedetto, and has her own private door. It made me so happy to see her greet me, outside her stall, one morning last summer. I sensed she was happy, and that she had the right mix of space and animal communing without being bothered by them. There are days when she seems to like having her ears scratched again. And this winter, she even tolerated me laying her down to do her toenails-now, "laying her down" did not mean in a graceful, easy way, and she was louder than a raptor fighting so I could only wonder what the neighbors thought-but we got it done.

Just like Benedetto, who loves the snow and cold but is not big on rain, we wondered if our pull to Maine was to make White Dog, and a grumpy pig...find their happy place.

We used to muse,

Maybe she'll never die...

She is and continues to be that kind of presence at the farm. But so were so many others that lived long lives with us, and they died. Everything dies.

So today is her tenth birthday.

She is clearly an old crone that knows who she is and has no motive to change.

{Do you like the stories and work of Apifera? Consider a small donation to help offset the adopted animal care}

Conversation of the grumpiest pig

I found the pig watching silently, examining the new morning from her private suite. I can only imagine what The World's Grumpiest But I'm Fine As I Am Pig thinks internally in these moments...

Hrumpf...sun, that's, well alright...but slight humidity.

Trumpf OWEEEOWHrumpf!

Too much sun really, not enough wind...FLIES!

Will sleep and hope for some clouds.

Oh Rosie! Conversation with the waking grumpy pig

I often find Little Sylvia Pettini sleeping in the Rosie's private suite...which I guess makes it semi-private. This morning I saw this scene as I walked to the barn and it was one of those put the feed buckets down and take out camera-quickly-before the opportunity to catch this scene evaporates.

"Good morning, Rosie!" I said, in the same sing-song tone my mother used to get me up as a little girl-which now I would love to hear every morning, but in the cold of a Minnesota winter always in the dark it was the gut wrenching reality I had to get up out of my comfortable dream spot.

The expression on Rosie's face as she lay there, awakened by my footsteps, was priceless.

No matter how grumpy she can be, this past year has been my favorite of our years together, including having her on the six day journey east. I truly believe that somehow, something clicked in that pig's mind as we landed on new soil. I don't know why. Because even though she is still vocally grumpy most of the time, and is needier than ever, she has softened to me in some ways-although a visitor might not notice it. Yesterday I was out near the barn and heard her carrying on in true Rosie grumpiness-loud squeals and hrumpfs and such-and I went to see if she was okay. She was laying down but was frustrated because she couldn't get the flies off of her-due to her more arthritic body. She hates to be sprayed, but I coated her in fly spray, then I sang my old Rosie song to her...which I was pleased to see still gave her some kind of calming, and her groans of despair ceased.

What a pig.

Her Grumpiness lets the village know it's toe trimming day

I waited until the nearest neighbors pulled out in their camper for their Labor Day holiday. Then I snuck into her royal highness's stall, while she slept, where she sounded more like a lumber jack than a princess. I got one toe done before the screaming started. If you ever wondered what a prehistoric sea creature sounded like, I would expect it was something like the sound of Rosie getting her toes trimmed.

Such drama.

As she has aged, and become more arthritic, it takes less time. She doesn't have the strength to fight me so we get it done. I've tried all sorts of things to help in the past...beer-she did not like the micro brew so I gave her some cheap beer...nope. But Marcella and Earnest enjoyed a cocktail that night. Had a vet do them once to the tune of $175...yes, that's right, and we did not do that again.

So, it all got done. And I told her in hopes she would forgive me that pumpkin season is upon us. This made her stop grumping at me for seconds, until she waddled back to her favorite sleeping spot, and before I even turned around she was happily snoring like a lumber jack again.

A miracle at Apifera! Rosie the pig explores the countryside!

Rosie venturing out of her comfort zone

No matter your religious beliefs, it is nice to experience a miracle or two in one's lifetime.

And a miracle has occurred here at Apifera.

I went out to do morning feedings and did a double take in the sheep field. Rosie was grazing with them. Now this might not seem like such a big deal to many of you, but it is, it really is.

You see, her royal highness has not left her private suite and paddock for over a year, and back in Oregon she had not left her Old Barn suite to even go out and get some sunbaths. If you've been following along, you know that The World's Grumpiest But I'm Fine As I Am Pig has very particular needs-sunscreen for her tender skin, just the right bedding so as to help her dream state, and privacy. But in the last months we are seeing her blossom in her older age, to flirting through the fence with Earnest, and to venturing outside more and more in her private paddock.

In the last few days, I've left the gate into Her Most Tender One's paddock open, because there is so much long grass and I wanted the sheep to eat it down-her pigness just doesn't graze fast any more and sleeps most of the time. I left the gate open in the past days since Rosie just doesn't venture out and that way the sheep could come and go.

But there she was, enjoying her grass this morning far from her comfort zone.

We think Rosie is pretty much blind. I think she still has her hearing, and her hind end is arthritic or appears to be so she doesn't move very fast. She's always had an odd walk for a pig. It was so nice to see her out and I decided to let her be, but checked on her mid day to see if she was okay, since she can't see. I found her in the sheep barn with the flock, looking like she really wanted to find her sleeping spot. So I went and guided her to her suite.

There was a time when I thought Rosie had come to a point where life wasn't good for her anymore. I feared the trip to Maine and the winters here might do her in-but no way would I rehome her because I don't think there are many people who delight in grumpy pig needs. And once I commit, I commit. She had lost some weight and her skin was having issues. She was so grumpy for those last couple years in Oregon, no vet could really work on her. I had one though that knew pigs well and always came to my aide and we always got a chuckle out of it all. We had to get a microchip in her for the trip and that was a challenge but we did it. She had a great trip out in her private sleeping chamber, and I think the summers here are better on her since it isn't as dry. Her skin is looking good and her weight is a better. Next spring she will be ten. That is getting up there for a pig.

So Rosie had a good day. I hope she has many more. She is some pig.

Even the sheep greeted her

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jul 15, 2017 at 8:07am PDT

Her royal princess pig sleeps like a queen

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jul 3, 2017 at 2:30pm PDT

I came to the outer barn for chores only to hear the usual snoring of Rosie. But it was coming from an odd position. I looked down to see her nose at the bottom of the barn siding, snorting away.

Rosie takes her sleep seriously and since she is nine, an advanced age in pigdom, she is entitled to sleep as much as she likes.

I have been spraying the bathing beauty in her newly acquired sunscreen-thanks to readers and followers for sending me some. And they were good enough to send exactly the kind Rosie, and I, prefer-the spray on kind. Miss Pig does much better with a quick spray. In the old days I used to spend enormous amounts of energy mixing Destin with oil to rub it on her most sensitive areas. Maybe the humidity here in Maine versus the constant arid dryness of Oregon summers is helping her skin. I think it is. I also noted she did not bolt all her hair like she used to and I'm not sure why.

Anyway, as Rosie ages, I cherish each morning I hear her snores. Nine is getting  up there for a potbellied and I know she won't last forever. For all her drama, she is one amazing pig and has led quite the life having once lived in her own bedroom in a house, to a barn with a crippled goat, to a farm full of Misfits and then traveling five days to get to Maine-where she now seems happier than ever.

Long live Th-World's-Grumpiest-But-I'm-Fine-As-I-Am- Pig...a hell of a porcine.

{Did you hear the big news? Apifera is becoming a 501c!}

Rosie the pig continues to blossom, grumpily

I came upon Rosie this morning outside her sleeping suite visiting the grasses and  Ranunculus flowers nearby. When Rosie arrived at the old Apifera, she would roam a bit more, biting off grass blades and napping in the sun. But over time, her grumpiness grew and she preferred her own company, especially after Eleanor arrived. Even Stevie the Kissing Goat didn't seem to be able to entice her out of Old Barn, where she retreated to at one point, living for the last two years of our time there in  a private suite. Visiting chickens were allowed to roost near her, and the sounds and faces of passing sheep and donkeys on the other side of the fence did not bother her.

So each time I find her outside in her private paddock, it makes me happy.

"Rosie!" I always say.

"Rrumpf guru aaaa hrumph," she says. Sometimes she is calmed by having the backs of her ears rubbed, as she was today.

Rosie has also been found lying on the fence line that is shared on the other side by Earnest and the goats. I find him lying there too and it's heartening to see she seems to finally understand,

This is a pig, I am a pig. 

I would love to let Earnest in with her, but I just think it could be a disaster. He has tusks, number one, and he is much heavier and stronger than Rosie who has a weak hind end. If Earnest decided, as he probably would, that love making was needed, I'm afraid he could hurt her already weak hind end. So their get-togethers are like those of prison inmates, meeting at a designated dividing fence where they can touch noses. I can not imagine the pig squeals she would emit if their relationship was consummated. Fortunately, she was spayed before we adopted her, so should Earnest someday make a valiant effort to be with his grumpy cougar girlfriend, there would not be little grumpy Rosies in three months.

Martyn and I have laughed at this thought-Rosie with children. Would she eat them? We imagined them running around like gremlins, complete with horns.

There is only one Rosie and there will never be another one....perhaps this is good. But I've become very fond her royal highness, she and I have learned each other's languages and I am enjoying her new 'tender' side that emerge here from time to time.

Pig Sunscreen Drive!

I haven't done the Pig Sunscreen Fund for a couple of years because Rosie was in her private suite in Old Barn and took a hiatus from daylight-despite all our efforts to encourage her outside.

But now in Maine, she has sort of re-blossumed into a real pig, or as real a pig as Rosie will ever be. This morning she was outside sunning and her legs were getting pink. T don't have this problem with the other pigs, but Rosie bolts her hair in spring and gets all naked...and pink.

So I am doing another Pig Sunscreen Drive for her royal highness.
I used to massage her with baby oil at night. Then in morning I add Destin in, and the left over baby oil on her body helps spread out the thicker Destin. But it is much easier to use spray on sunscreen.

If Rosie is in a grumpy mood - a 90% possibility - covering her in rub on sunscreen can be quite a challenge- but anything for our Rosie.


How to help:

Donate: a small amount at the funding page

-or-

Send Sunscreen:
Rosie is accepting spray on sun screen this year. The spray on is much easier to get good coverage on her grumpy body. Send your sunscreen to: Rosie Rosie McDonald McDermot, c/o Apifera Farm, 315 Waldoboro Rd, Bremen, ME 04551

Earnest's pig love song: can Rosie share love after all these years?

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 13, 2017 at 9:11am PDT

In which Earnest the pig tells of his attempted flirtation with The-World's-Grumpiest-But-I-Am-Fine-As-I-Am-Pig, aka Rosie.

I have been watching her all these years, since back in Oregon. She is not really a looker, as Eleanor is, I do like the looks of a red head I must say, but sometimes in a new environment a pig can get a second look.

She is grumpy. This can be problematic in pig love making. Perhaps it was my first Maine spring, after a long, dark and chilly winter, that made my loins itch for her. I waddled over to her area last week and watched her casually from across the fence-a fence that protects her from me, and every other creature. Rosie is not mean, she just doesn't quite understand the beauty of reciprocating attention with other creatures. Only Stevie seemed to be able to discuss life issues with her, or sleep without being compromised by her gruffness. He was a hell of fellow, that Stevie.

We had warm weather again. This intensified my itching loins. I made my move. I put on my best performance of a love song I heard my father sing to my mother. I hardly remember my father. He was stern, but I do remember that love song he sang. He too was across a fence, and it made me wonder why the guys always get on the other side of the fence. I was a piglet, and that was the last I remember seeing him.

I sang that song to the best of my ability. It did not phase her...at least not that day. She continued to ignore me and ate the left over dinner of White Dog.

I do understand that most often food comes before love to a pig.

The next day, I returned to give it one more shot. Rome was not built in a day, they tell me. Well, to my surprise she was there at the fence.

"What brings you to the fence line this morning, Rosie?" I asked, quietly. We have all found the best way to address the grumpy pig is to speak softly. This saves our energy in case she does a rant or head toss in one's direction.

"I am not sure, but I felt enticed by something to venture to the fence," said Rosie.

"Shall I come by again, then, in the coming days?" asked Earnest.

"I suppose that will be acceptable," said Rosie, and she returned to her private suite, to nap, all grumpy like.

But I did notice a slight lightness in her step.

{Like all Apifera stories, this is to be continued.}

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 13, 2017 at 2:23pm PDT

Don't wake the sleeping princess!

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Apr 30, 2017 at 1:51pm PDT

Her royal highness was already in bed at 4pm feedings and was not pleased that I interrupted her beauty sleep. As my mother used to say,

"Oh, that pig!"

The-World's-Grumpiest-But-I-Am-Fine-As-I-Am-Pig about to turn another year grumpier

Tomorrow is Rosie's ninth birthday. If you had told me way back when I first brought Rosie home that a] she'd live this long, and b] I was going to drive her across the country from Oregon to Maine at some point, well, I might have pig snorted.

As one of my former vets said,

"She is lucky she came to you, I'm not sure anyone else would have handled her all these years."

It is true, she is grumpy. She is not like my other pigs who enjoy belly rubs, sun naps on my lap, or a certain amount of polite conversation after breakfast. When Rosie first arrived, she walked the barnyard more, but always with a grumpy cloud above her. It was never a problem, because she stayed out of the way, and preferred to be with Stevie the Kissing Goat, or by herself in a hay bed of her liking. Her care became more of a challenge when her first foot trim was due. I tried everything to get that pig to cooperate. I even gave her beer, an old farm trick-she refused it. I took a day to get one toe done, but it was better than nothing. The next time, I had my vet come out and it took three of us, with a pig snare, to the tune of $175. For the record, I am not one to pay $175 to have a pig's toes done, and I was slightly taken aback by the cost, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Each summer, I lathered her in sunscreen and oils to protect her skin from burning and to help her chronic skin condition. As she aged, and spent more time inside, it became less necessary, but she still needs her ears treated.

In time, Rosie became more of a recluse, and seemed to prefer that. One day I found her in the rain, shivering, far from her normal stall. I somehow got her into Old Barn, and she never left. I tried every spring to push her out into sun, but she liked her private area, away from Eleanor and Marcella and Earnest. I'm sure the other pigs shoved her around and she just isn't a fighter of other animals. She tolerated chickens, and me-on certain days.

It came time for us to move to Maine. I had many discussion with my vets. I was unsure if it was the right thing to move her. But it was not an option to rehome her, never. Nobody would have tolerated her. I just have a gene in me that allows me to be a punching bag for certain things-like grumpy pigs. On the day all the animals were micro chipped, we saved her for last. Somehow, we got it done, with a lot of grumpy words flung our way.

Any vet who has ever had to help me with Rosie, always remembers her,

"Do you still have that grumpy pig?"

Yep, I do. And she is turning nine. Which for her is getting old. For breeding pigs that would be ancient, for her, a spayed, pampered lass, it's like being 75, I guess.

The thing is, Rosie and I have had our ups and downs like any friendship. There were times in Oregon where I really was getting fed up. I worked so hard to make adjustments for her, and she was just plain...difficult. Even though she makes a lot of noise, she has never tried to bite me, or act threatening to anyone.

She is just grumpy.

I questioned if the trip to Maine would do her in. A five day-six night journey, where she would ride, alone, in a handbill princess pig palace in the back of the truck. The minute we got her in there, she went to sleep. She seemed to actually like her new arrangement. On our journey, when we stopped at gas stations, she would awaken, and people would hear sounds coming from our truck bed, but couldn't see her in her enclosed suite.

"That's just our pig," we said matter of factly.

"Hey, they have a pig in there!" and sometimes we'd open the lid of her suite so people could see her nose sicking out of straw.

When we first arrived in May of last year, Rosie continued to live in the truck bed in her private wooden hut, and for about two weeks wherever we went–to the hardware store, or out to lunch–people would be curious what they heard in that truck bed.

"Oh that's just our pig," we said without concern.

Eventually, she was moved to the chicken coop, temporarily, and did fine, but the chickens began picking her scaly skin [she has a skin condition], so we finally arranged a special private suite for her once the new barn was done. She sleeps side by side with the sheep, and Benedetto, and has her own private door. It made me so happy to see her greet me, outside her stall, one morning last summer. I sensed she was happy, and that she had the right mix of space and animal communing without being bothered by them. There are days when she seems to like having her ears scratched again. And this winter, she even tolerated me laying her down to do her toenails-now, "laying her down" did not mean in a graceful, easy way, and she was louder than a raptor fighting so I could only wonder what the neighbors thought-but we got it done.

Just like Benedetto, who loves the snow and cold but is not big on rain, we wondered if our pull to Maine was to make White Dog, and a grumpy pig...find their happy place.

We used to muse,

Maybe she'll never die...

She is and continues to be that kind of presence at the farm. But so were so many others that lived long lives with us, and they died. Everything dies.

So tomorrow, it is her ninth birthday. And it is also our first sheep sheering! I hope my sheering helpers will sing along to her...hopefully she will partake for seconds in a muted grumpy fashion-but why expect that from her.

She is clearly an old crone that knows who she is and has no motive to change.

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Her Royal Highness

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Feb 20, 2017 at 10:06am PST

Let me translate:

"Hrumpf! Mmmmmmmm! The morning came too soon for me! How can I sleep amidst the sheep chewing cud? Hrumpf Grrr Rump! I need my beauty rest."

Reprieve with the pig

It has been mild for two days, like spring. The ice melted.

And the The World's grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig came out for the first time in weeks. Like Solstice, I celebrated it with her, this coming out, this acknowledgment that winter days are to be blessed for the book end feeling of surprise spring days. She was uncharacteristically cheerful this morning, so I petted her behind the ears, her one spot of acceptance. And then I helped her back to her suite, covered her in straw, put my gloves in my pocket, happy to be able to open the gate with bare fingertips. These are the reprieves of winter. And they are worthy of my gratitude.

We are celebrating our incredible year here, all week. We are happy.

Oh Rosie!

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Nov 28, 2016 at 8:14am PST

Getting ready for bed when you are The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig is serious business. And around here, when you want to say Goodnight to The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig, one must proceed cautiously.

Nothing will keep me from wishing her sweet dreams, even her grumpiness.

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Nov 28, 2016 at 8:17am PST