I am so depressed. Someone stole my cement pig from my front porch.
This would never have happened in Nashville. People respected each other's yard stuff. For one thing, you all knew each other; it wouldn't be a faceless crime. For another, your neighbors would rat on you instantly if you were ill-mannered enough to actually steal a lawn ornament. I'm genuinely saddened to have to go back to big city ways where you can't trust anyone, you can't leave anything out in plain sight, and no one ever says hello when they pass you on the street. I don't like living like this any more. It gets old real fast.
I bought my pig in central Wisconsin on a summer trip to our lake cottage two years ago. I carefully selected him for his black and white markings, and whimsical expression. He was heavy as all get out, being made of cement, but I didn't care. I discovered how much I'd always wanted a yard pig when I found him among the gnomes and lawn jockeys at a garden center. We brought him 600 miles from Waupaca to Nashville, where he resided on our front porch as a sort of guardian spirit for two years, and then shipped him to the Bay Area when we moved out here. His name was Henry; I don't know why, it just was.
Now he's gone, along with my fragile belief in the kindness of strangers. I can feel my shell hardening. I'm not happy about this, not happy at all.
And I want my pig back. Dammit.
