In light of the salmonella scare sweeping the country, my chickens have come up with their own solution: Just stop laying eggs!

Yeah! Great! Now I have to go and buy some at a store and probably face buying the germ-ridden ones. Do you remember Mrs. Tweedy, the farmer's wife, in the movie Chicken Run? I am thinking of playing an excerpt from that to my feathered brethren so they get the idea.  Don't mess with Annie's fresh eggs.  I have been patient.

Of course, I suppose they have reason to feel some what traumatized and even have a touch of PTSD -- Pullet Traumatic Stress Disorder.  After all, they have seen their companions slaughtered in front of them by Brer Fox, an attack that left Martha Stewart disabled and Edwina Curry...well, addled might be a good word. In fact, Edwina Curry was so shocked that some of her feathers have turned white and she spends a vast amount of time staring into the ground, contemplatively, perhaps mulling over her own chicken mortality.  Maybe I should be more patient.

I am going to be honest and say that a little of the thrill of the ten little piggies is started to wear off. Here's the thing: both Maria (mummy pig) and I are constantly trying to keep track of the little buggers. From a large animal predator standpoint, we have to keep a close eye out for Brer Fox who would love to supplement his organic diet with some fresh pork chops. Then there are the eagles that constantly hover overhead, can carry away little Rose or her siblings in just a few seconds. I don't know if Maria can count, and as sort of a surrogate granny I find myself constantly trying to keep track.

It hasn't helped that they have learned how to do the Great Pig Escape. You would swear that the pigpen is as tight as a nail in a coffin, but somehow they squeeze and wiggle their way to freedom and the farm becomes their playground. The damned things are so quick that I am never sure if I have counted the same one twice. Ahhh! Very frustrating. But it has taught me that pigs have an amzing vocabulary. Maria has certain grunty noises for feeding, watering, playtime, reprimands and is an outstanding mother in her ability to referee piglet squabbles.

We've started to name the pigs. So far we have Mountbatten, Rose and Peggy Sue. Before too long, we're going to have a live "Pig Cam" in their pen and we'll hold a "Name That Pig" contest so readers can help us name the other seven. Until then, I have to chase some swine.

Runt Club

Runt Club

Every litter of pigs has its runts, who are always the fastest and cutest of the bunch. Here are Maria's runts in action!

Every litter of pigs has its runts, who are always the fastest and cutest of the bunch.  Here are Maria's runts in action!

Piggy Yard Work

Piggy Yard Work

The pigs digging up my lawn!

Pigs, regardless of age, are incredible rooters and can furrow a piece of ground in no time looking for all manner of yummies.  Maria's offspring waste no time in helping Annie aerate her front yard.

It's a terrible feeling when you are trying to count ten little piggies and keep coming up short. You wonder if Maria has a flat Wilbur under her immense body but as she doesn't want to move looking under her is not an option. And then Joy! You realize you simply can't count and all are present and correct for role call. So that's twelve pigs in total, one sheep, twenty five assorted cows, six chickens, three cats, two birds..... It's off to try and count the fifty-two fish....

Maria popping out her first newborn

Maria popping out her first newborn

Maria the pig becomes a proud mama after 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days of pregnancy.

Wow.  The miracle of birth is no less amazing when it's happening to a pig than to a human.  In fact, it's more amazing because there are no epidurals, obstetricians, pushy nurses or doulas exhorting the mother to "push."

The newborn gets its bearings.

The newborn gets its bearings.

Talk about disoriented! You're just out of the womb and your biggest worry is that your mom will squash you into pork rinds with her bulk. And you thought your mornings were tough.

Talk about disoriented!  You're just out of the womb and your biggest worry is that your mom will squash you into pork rinds with her bulk. And you thought your mornings were tough.

The babies are HUNGRY!

The babies are HUNGRY!

The piglets get down on mummy's tummy—yummy! Sorry, I couldn't resist the rhyming.

The piglets go to town on mummy's teats.  They'll feed for hours each day and gain weight at a rate that usually requires Ben and Jerry's.  Hmm, I wonder if one of those things serves Guiness?

One Hour Later...

One Hour Later...

One hour after being popped out, the eleven new piglets (one was born dead, sadly), fill their little bellies.

One hour after being popped out, the eleven new piglets (one was born dead, sadly), fill their little bellies.  Maria, pooped after her Herculean effort at childbirth, rests.  I'm sorry, if you don't think this is cute, there's something seriously wrong with you.

One day, I looked at Maria the pig and thought she finally looked a tad larger then my 34-week pregnant daughter. They had been running more or less neck and neck, but finally, like a sailboat passing another a race, pregnant belly spinnakers flying, Maria edged past Christina.

Although she has shared her pen with Mini Me, the black pot bellied miniature pig, quite happily, I could hear his squeals from five hundred yards. As I approached their domain, I saw that Maria had built a very impressive nest. About two feet high, it consisted of hay branches, leaves, and anything else she had rummaged from the earth The piggy equivalent of dumpster diving, I guess.

She lay on her side, panting heavily, and as today was due day (pigs gestate for three months, three weeks and three days) it was looking hopeful. It's always exciting when there is new life joining us, mixed with trepidation of course as you wonder what might go wrong and how the hell are you going to do anything about it anyway. Pig veterinarians don't exist around here, and my own personal one hasn't done pig surgery since school.

I was anticipating a longish delivery; certainly I had time enough to go to work and maybe view the proceedings with a couple of brewskis. In the meantime, Mini Me was getting four hundred and fifty pounds of irate mummy ramming him in the side. I figured it was time to take him to new quarters. Fortunately, help had arrived in the form of Alan, staff member supreme who greets every command with a smile and an "Okay!" "We need to move this pig" I said. "Okay!" Easier said than done, but there is a trick to pig herding which I am not sharing with you as it's a trade secret. By that, I mean it only took us an hour. Not bad really.

I went to change into my "smart manager type dress" to go to work and thought I would totter on my high heels before leaving for the day, to see how Maria was progressing. I saw a little rat rustling in the hay. Gross. A rat. Wait a minute! Not a rat! A baby piggy! Tiny and black and pink and being ignored by Mommy pig. And another one...lying in the dirt. Bad mommy pig!
And then they started popping out with impressive regularity.

After the third (and largest), she settled down to let them all come to her, and in an hour and a half had had eleven little future pork chops, although one was dead and had been for some time as I discovered when I went to pick it up. I will spare you the details.

Nothing is cuter than a bunch of baby pigs. Nothing is more touching to see this gentle giant trying to maneuver her huge bulk without crushing her family (been there with my own!). With a sigh, it's off to work, leaving the happy piggy family to get to know each other.

Later...it's amazing to see how advanced pigs are compared to puppies. They are born with their eyes open and with voracious appetites. With a lovely assortment of baby pink, black and pink and a rather lovely gold and pink, they are up and running in hours. So, I had my beers, sitting in a chair as the sun set watching the babies and wondering at the miracle of life. Hey, there isn't much else to do for entertainment in the sticks!

Next morning...of course this is the one time Kent has taken off to go fishing, leaving me with ten extra bodies to be responsible for. It's a relief to go out there as dawn breaks and count the same number of God's creatures as you left last night--none of them eaten by foxes or squashed by mommy. Maria looked a little under the weather, not eating and panting hard. My first concern was infection. So I texted said veterinarian husband, whose wonderful return text was "Take her temperature." Seriously! Can you imagine trying to get a temperature of a huge beast that is mildly domesticated compared to most? Hmm.

The scary thing is, I did it...and I videotaped it. So if I were Kent, I would be afraid. Very afraid of me. Because if I can sneak up on a 450 pound pig and get a rectal temperature...just imagine.

We were saddened this week to learn of the sudden death of author Jim Cole, who passed in his sleep on July 25 at the age of 60.  Jim was a grizzly bear expert and self-taught naturalist who had become a great friend to both of us: first to Tim, who co-authored his book, Blindsided, which came out in June of 2010, and then to Annie, who had him as a guest on All Paws Pet Talk, where he shared the incredible story of surviving his second grizzly bear mauling in 2007.  

Jim was a passionate, funny baseball fanatic who gave up a thriving real estate career nearly 20 years ago to move to Montana and spend the rest of his life living near the wilderness.  He amazed everyone, including us, with his fearlessness and calm around grizzly bears, which were his greatest source of fascination and his life's work.  Hiking more than 2500 miles in a typical year within Yellowstone, Glacier National Park and Alaska, Jim would return with incredible photos and observations of the largest carnivores in North America.  Even after his near-fatal mauling, his love for these creatures did not wane a bit.  Hence the subtitle of his book: "Surviving a Grizzly Attack and Still Loving the Great Bear."

So it was shocking and painful to hear of his abrupt end.  Jim had cardiac arrhythmia that required a simple surgical procedure a few years ago, and one can only assume that for a man as fit as he was, sudden cardiac arrest my have been the cause of death.  But that doesn't matter in the end.  What does matter is that a good, kind, passionate and dedicated man walked among us and now walks no more.  But sad as we are, we don't mourn Jim Cole.  He did something few people ever do: he lived exactly the life that he dreamed about.  We should all be so lucky.

Vaya con dios, Jim.  If you'd like to find out more about Jim's book, Blindsided, go to his website. 

Jim Cole on the Today Show 6-8-10

Jim Cole on the Today Show 6-8-10

Our good friend Jim Cole, author of "Blindsided," passed away at the age of 60. Tim co-wrote his book and this was him appearing with Matt Lauer on the day the book came out. He was a wonderful man and will be missed.

Wow.  It has been quite a past few weeks on "All Paws Pet Talk."  I've had some of the most fascinating guests from across the spectrum.  First, I was lucky enough to have repeat appearances by celebrity pet photographer Christopher Ameruoso.  Apart from taking gorgeous shots of the bold and beautiful and their pets (from Hilary Duff to Megan Fox to Adrien Brody), Christopher also rocks one of the baddest sets of facial hair I've ever seen, from the sweet moustache to one of the best goatees on the planet.  Plus, he's a dear. On one of his visits, he was joined by Linda Blair, who everyone will always remember from The Exorcist but who has done numerous other films and is both a delight and a huge advocate for animal welfare.  They were delightful!

Next, I was blessed to have actor Joe Mantegna as a guest.  Joe is a Chicago native who co-created and starred in the best play ever written about baseball, Bleacher Bums (which my co-author, Tim Vandehey, tells me he starred in when he was a wee collegiate sophomore of only 19).  He's done television, movies and stage for more than 40 years, winning a Tony Award for his work in David Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross. It was an honor to have Joe on the phone to talk about his love of our animal friends!  

Finally, it was my continued and repeated joy to have as my guest Colleen Gordon. Colleen is President and founder of Healing For Pets, and is Central Florida's premier pet communicator. She has been working with pet owners all over the world solving health, behavior, and nutritional issues. Her mission is to be the bridge of communication and understanding between pets and owners. Colleen has been helping pets and people for over 10 years. Her gifts are pet psychic, acupressure, reiki energetic healing, allergy reduction therapy, pet massage, and herbal therapies.

I truly have an interesting, wonderful life!  Many thanks to these and all my guests and here's hoping I can land the incredible Ellen DeGeneres for my show!!  Fingers crossed!

From the WTF file comes a story from Scotland, where a brewery is selling a blonde ale packaged in—we are not making this up—a bottle that's been stuffed in the open-mouthed, stuffed carcass of a dead animal, like a squirrel.  Now, Lord knows we've both been known to tip back our fair share of malted yeast beverage, fermented grape juice and other tipples, but huh?  This buries the needle on the What The Hell Were You Thinking O-Meter. 

It gets stranger, if that's possible.  The beer is called The End of History, it's 55 percent alcohol (that's 110 proof; for perspective, Maker's Mark is 80 proof) and it costs $770 PER BOTTLE!  Let us get this straight: you want us to pay the cost of a coach ticket to Nassau for a beer served in the skin of an eviscerated marmot, one bottle of which will likely leave us passed out in a pool of our own vomit?  Capitalism has officially gone insane...but it's a hell of a PR ploy.  Read about the brewery here, if you dare.