I love happy endings. I want everyone to get what they deserve, unless it’s me, in which case I should escape all consequences for my actions. My continued survival depends on karma forgetting I exist. Unfortunately, I don’t have a happily-ever-after scenario to report this week. The rescue pig and my pigs are not getting along. The uneasy truce of last week collapsed into open violence. I don’t ask a lot from those under my roof, but I do expect them not to turn my house into a battlefield. It’s the same set of standards I apply to my children, which is why they all plan to move out as soon as they turn eighteen. I hope this isn’t the finale of our three-pig tale, but merely the fraught middle, with a satisfying resolution yet to come. I’m not sure we have enough pages left to reach that outcome. Before too long, I might get thrown out along with Onyx. I’ll let you know when we’re both in search of a good home.
Things took a turn for the worse after we got back from our trip to Wisconsin.
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