pigs in a row


So @trykster-maraca reminded me that i have not done a head count of the Cannimals recently. This is important as Hannipenguin has been known to ‘retire’ cast mates that he didn’t like (No,Hanni, put that down).

The cast so far…

Back row: Mason the pig, Margot Pony, Alana Zebra, Will Mongoose, Jack the bear

Middle row: Chilton the gingerbread man, Reba the tiger, Francis the (smol) great red dragon, Matthew the bird (he prefers hawk but he’s really a bird), Hannipenguin, Abigail penguin

Front left: Team Sassy Science Lab Mice Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller

Guest star appearances (not in picture): Franklyn the Walrus, Bella Crawford the bear, Morgan Verger the floppy ear bunny, Lobster Will 

anonymous asked:

Slater and Braydon at a petting zoo! (No goats)

I feel offended that you didn’t want goats! :p This takes place in The Grass isn’t Always Greener ‘verse despite that.


The way Slater does a state fair is shocking.

“Wha…” Braydon stutters, being pulled from the line he was standing in for fudge. “Slater, where are we going?”

“It’s almost time for the pigs!”

“The pigs.”

“Yeah, they parade them all out and hand out prizes.”

Braydon follows dutifully and let’s Slater pick out a front row seat to see the prize-winning pigs. Which is ridiculous, because they all look the same. Big and pink and a little bit dirty.

But Slater is riveted when they start coming out with their handlers, someone announcing their number and farm and breeding. He likes number 213 the best, thinks he should be the winner.

“No question, look at him.”

Braydon thinks the pig looks exactly like all the others.

“Okay,” Slater says, after the blue ribbon is pinned to the pig he picked correctly to win. “The dairy cows are at four, so we’ve got an hour before we need to be back here.”

“Really?” he groans. “Can’t we just…go play some games? I’ll try to win you a teddy bear.”

“The cows are the last thing today,” Slater says with a smile. “And then you can win me a teddy bear.”

Braydon accepts defeat too easily. “What should we do now, then?”

Slater takes his hand and tugs him along. He lets Braydon stop and get fudge before they carry on toward a boxed off area swarming with kids.

“What’s this?” he mumbles, mouth full of too much peanut butter fudge.

“Petting zoo.”

Sure enough there are bunnies, and a miniature horse, and little lamb that might be the softest thing Braydon’s ever touched. There’s a group of ducklings splashing around in a pool and a donkey and a regular sized horse that doesn’t seem too happy to be there. They get to the piglets last, all curled up in the hay that’s been laid down, twitching a little in sleep.

“Pretty crazy that they get so big, eh?”

“They’re cute,” Braydon concedes, moving out of the way so a kid can stick their arms through the rails.

“My grandparents had one when I was younger. They named him Tobias. He was massive, ate everything in sight.”

“Why don’t you have one now? On the farm, I mean.”

Slater shrugs. “No reason, really. Why? You wanna adopt one together?” he jokes.

Braydon had been thinking about getting another goat for their flock but a piglet would be better. Something Slater…they don’t already have. “Is there space for one?”


“We can think about it but…Tobias Junior?”

“Please no, we’d have to come up with a better name.”

“Tobias is a very strong, sturdy name. Don’t knock it!”

Slater shoves a piece of fudge in Braydon’s mouth and marches him out of the petting zoo, back toward the area where the dairy cows are set to be paraded. Thank goodness the farm already has some of those.


Guinea Pigs by JUNE NG
Via Flickr:
My guinea pigs family portrait …

Essay, by Bernadette Mayer

I guess it’s too late to live on the farm
I guess it’s too late to move to a farm
I guess it’s too late to start farming
I guess it’s too late to begin farming
I guess we’ll never have a farm
I guess we’re too old to do farming
I guess we couldn’t afford to buy a farm anyway
I guess we’re not suited to being farmers
I guess we’ll never have a farm now
I guess farming is not in the cards now
I guess Lewis wouldn’t make a good farmer
I guess I can’t expect we’ll ever have a farm now
I guess I’ll have to give up all my dreams of being a farmer
I guess I’ll never be a farmer now
We couldn’t get a farm anyway though Allen Ginsberg got one late in life
Maybe someday I’ll have a big garden
I guess farming is really out
Feeding the pigs and the chickens, walking between miles of rows of crops
I guess farming is just too difficult
We’ll never have a farm
Too much work and still to be poets
Who are the farmer poets
Was there ever a poet who had a self-sufficient farm
Flannery O’Connor raised peacocks
And Wendell Berry has a farm
Faulkner may have farmed a little
And Robert Frost had farmland
And someone told me Samuel Beckett farmed
Very few poets are real farmers
If William Carlos Williams could be a doctor and Charlie Vermont too,
Why not a poet who was also a farmer
Of course there was Brook Farm
And Virgil raised bees
Perhaps some poets of the past were overseers of farmers
I guess poets tend to live more momentarily
Than life on a farm would allow
You could never leave the farm to give a reading
Or to go to a lecture by Emerson in Concord
I don’t want to be a farmer but my mother was right
I should never have tried to rise out of the proletariat
Unless I can convince myself as Satan argues with Eve
That we are among a proletariat of poets of all the classes
Each ill-paid and surviving on nothing
Or on as little as one needs to survive
Steadfast as any farmer and fixed as the stars
Tenants of a vision we rent out endlessly