In which Earnest the pig conitnues to write in his musings in his journal.
May 19, on the road to Maine, somewhere in eastern Oregon
I was able to see my children for the first time today, briefly. I am too big for them they say, emboldened, and might step on one. This is true. As I might have the intention of sniffing one as a greeting or acknowledgement of being their father, I too often am overwhelmed by my need to constantly eat and can be distracted easily by even a grain of feed nearby.
My riding quarters are separate from the others. My tusks can be problematic. I mean no harm with them, but recognize their ability to slice and dice. I am rather pleased with myself that I have this suite all on my own, although I heard talk one of the small goats might come in with me at the first layover.
The air vents allow me to feel the air move above me. The sound of the road is mesmerizing and makes me sleepy. It's like a long nap on a boat I must assume. I've never been on a boat, but we saw some on the National Geographic special last summer when we heisted that old TV out of the barn for a night, until someone ate the cord. One of The White Dogs no doubt, although I was blamed. I prefer to eat natural items.
So far, America feels the same to me as it did on the farm. But I sense change coming. All the same, I am still me, Earnest. It is good to be grounded in myself and not swathed by the dissenting voices I hear coming from the radio up front.
