The time is moving quickly and we are preparing the Misfits and the trailer for our trip to Maine. I have spent much of the morning in discussion with The World's Grumpiest But-I-Like-Myself-Just-The-Way-I-Am-Pig, aka Rosie. The conversation went something like this:
"Rosie, this traveling crate is how we will get you into the truck to go to Maine. Look, I put your food bowl in there,check it out."
"Hrumpf. Nuwwum squeal, nope," she said.
"It is a temporary bed. You will travel in your own mini suite," I encouraged her.
She stepped one piggy toe in the crate.
"Hrumpf! Not soft!" she squealed.
"Of course, I see, but I will get the finest straw for your bedding," I said.
She let me know in no uncertain terms her thoughts, by grunts and pig motions that only I can decipher at this point since nobody else lives with her but me.
"No, Rosie, there is no room for you in the back seat. You will travel in the trailer or truck bed."
"HRUMPF arsolophis grumpf, humpf!" she said.
"Do you have any idea how much effort I am making for you?" I said as I sat down near the crate, frustrated. "I'm running out of time Rosie. Maybe I'm just...nuts."
"Hmrompo mushes....grumph...." she said in a quieter tone. And she she moved into the crate to eat.
I walked back to the house.
"Can I pull this entire thing off?" I thought to myself.
