Pigs are Pigs and that's that

This is a true story – about trust and betrayal – about things I believed in that turned out to be the most horrible lies. I put my faith in them – the pigs. They seemed so honest and genuine – asking me so nice if I would do a proper photo shoot of them.

They were upset about all the negativity they’d been receiving since the outbreak of N1H1 flu. They wanted to set the record straight and needed some publicity shots. True, I hadn’t known them long, but the water buffalo and I go way back and he seemed to think they were on the level.

Since the important thing was improving their stature, they wanted something that would make them look a little more imposing. I tried to explain that they wouldn’t look imposing one on top of the other if I took it from above – but they insisted, and wanted it in sepia – going for that classic look.

After a little consultation, they decided my lighting was all wrong – and they brought in some lighting experts of their own. I just waited around, hanging onto the tripod, sipping cups of cold coffee.

At last they were ready and I went for it.

And went for it again:

This really wasn’t going well. None of the shots were any good. I admit it. They didn’t come up to my usual standard. But I had never done something like this before, it was new to me.

But the pigs didn’t seem to want to listen to me. Sure they were still polite to my face, but I could tell they were saying unkind things behind my back.

But then they gathered round the fire and began speaking in low growls and grunts, consulting with the hippo and the warthog in a language I couldn’t understand. I felt a chill go down my spine. That warthog has always been a troublemaker – why did I let him into the lounge with the others? How could I have been such a fool?

Suddenly the lights went out! The hippo let a shriek rip – tearing from his throat like a banshee, followed by the warthog’s screech and I could barely see the littlest pig making for me.

I scrambled to my feet and with my heart pounding, raced for the light. I flicked it on, but it was too late. Fortunately, I had the remote in my hand and was able to get this shot of them on the attack!

 

The doctor tells me it will be months before I am able to walk again, after months of therapy.

I’m upstairs. Away from the pigs. My hubby’s been bringing me my soup and my medicine. I’m feeling a bit better, but, but… I’ll never ever, as long as I live, trust pigs again! And I’ll never photograph another one! They’re ruthless and cruel and and and…

they’re pigs! And that’s that!

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