Crikey, y’all have constitutions of iron. My lack thereof precludes me from normal farming pursuits. I’d love to raise some gourmet pork for the Austin foodie scenesters, but I’d fall in love with any pig in about 2 minutes, and then it’d be Charlotte’s Web all over again. Heck, my handyman had to physically restrain me from setting free the hideous feral hogs we’d gone to so much trouble to trap after they’d destroyed my lawn and a couple of paddocks. In theory, I hated those nasty hogs with an unprecedented passion, but when I saw them in the trap they just looked scared and pathetic and lard help me kind of cute.
I suck.