I woke up this morning with an acute case of laryngitis. The funny thing is I don't know exactly when I discovered it, because I woke up completely alone. My husband had already headed into the yard to get the new piggies into their pen.
By the time I was up and around and ready to see the new little members of the family, they had escaped their bonds and wandered into the yard. It took several of us, and the dog, to wrangle them back to their own large section of the side pasture.
The chickens and ducks were watching from the sidelines, trying to figure out who the naked fatties were, making grunting noises as they munched on acorns and apple cores. I could tell the ducks were concerned. They continued to watch the pigs, beaks tilted to the side in quiet contemplation. It was obvious they were plotting, as only ducks can do. The chickens, on the other hand, were more concerned with the food, and repeatedly risked electrocution to tuck under the fence to sneak a peek at what the pigs had in their feeders.
The pigs couldn't have cared less about the others in the farmyard. They were simply thrilled to be roaming free, noses buried in dry leaves, rooting out nuts and seeds and whatever else pigs eat.
Today was the first day since we moved here that my husband felt like a real farmer. Covered in pig slop and other assorted nastiness. Accidentally zapping himself on electrified wires. Having to chase down runaway piglets. Twice.
All in all, it was a pretty good day at the haunted farm. Even if I couldn't find my voice to say a single thing about it. In fact, my total silence may have made it a perfect day for my husband. And I guess I can let him have that just this once.
Until the next time...I'll be waiting for my voice to come back.