This blog post has been two days in the making. Why? Because for the past two straight days, I have been on a quest to capture and contain five wayward pigs on a mission to take over the farm. This is just the first part of the story.

There are so many reasons why people with video cameras should follow me around all day. Today was just one example, and I have to say I'm very sad to report that, once again, we have no video feed. But oh, what a video it would have been.

I woke up yesterday to the sound of utter chaos. I wasn't sure if it was a remnant of the bad dreams I was having, or if perhaps the noise had affected my dreams. I'm used to the clanging and clucking of chickens outside my bedroom window, but it wasn't a chicken banging around this time. It was a pig. ​

Two pigs to be precise. Two naughty, jail breaking pigs. ​And Napoleon is the ring leader of the bunch!

Someone had forgotten to turn the electric fence back on, and the pigs were able to wander out without consequence. ​One big bucket of food, and a few love bites later, I had all the pigs back in their pen and I'd gone about my day.

Fast forward to the evening...​

I'd already captured the stupid pigs three times. Three times I'd played the role of "bait". Three times I'd dangled a bucket of food to capture the runaway pigs. And now it wasn't just two, it was three, and it was getting closer to night. My only saving grace was my husband (yes, I'm talking about him here) arriving home from the office to witness the pigs wandering the yard. He came bearing food (of the livestock variety) and together we ran around the yard carrying sticks to corral the four runaway pigs. Yes, their numbers were growing. Only one of the five stayed in the pen, gorging himself on the food we'd thrown in to bait them.

This is where the camera crew would have come in handy.

I nearly peed my pants as Mike broke a sweat chasing the pigs back and forth across the yard in what reminded me of an episode of Scooby Doo. He was wielding a stick in each hand as he ran circles around the pigs, trying to force them toward the open pen down in the pasture while I shouted out suggestions that he promptly ignored. Then I decided to make myself useful and pulled out the handy dandy strap-on headlamp and secured it to my forehead as night descended on the yard, and the scene took on a very Blair Witch ​appearance, as I shouted for the pigs to "walk into the light". Then I had the bright idea to grab the dog's leash and play rodeo cowboy. The idea was to rope them and drag them off to the pen.

Mike roped the first pig, securing the leash around him, much to the dog's dismay...that's his ​leash! As it turns out, roping even a small pig is very much like lashing yourself to an angry bull. This seemingly tiny pig thrashed Mike around like a ragdoll to the point where the dog (my giant mastiff who is terrified of the pigs) bounded off the porch to engage the pig in a heated confrontation. As it turns out, the dog just wanted his leash back. He snatched it in his teeth and bolted back into the house (where he still holds it in his teeth more than 24 hours later.)

We spent another hour chasing pigs until we had them all locked safely in the duck pen for the night. ​

But with the morning came a new realization...control is but an illusion. ​

Until the next time...I'll be continuing the saga of the pig revolution.​