Let me tell you about the true back-story of “Dirty Pig.” Several years ago, Ethan, John, Beth, and I stayed a few nights on a pig farm in central Vermont. We loved the barn because it contained mostly pigs—piglets, adolescent pigs, three large sows that were the source of all the piglets and adolescent pigs, and one lone boar named Mr. Studly (yes, his real name). The sows each weighed about 8000 pounds, or so it seemed, but Mr. Studly was only about one quarter of their size. He had the equipment to do his manly duties, but he couldn’t reach any of his sweethearts. So Farmer Brown (I am using a pseudonym here) built Mr. Studly a pig step ladder and platform, which he would move into a pen whenever Mr. Studly went on a romantic date with one of the sows. It was quite a sight.

Besides all the pigs, there were myriad chickens, all clucking at once, that could go in and out of the barn at will, and there were several pens of baby chicks. And there was one lone Jersey cow (actually a calf) named Jersey Girl.

The first night we decided to visit the barn after dark; it was enchanted. Farmer Brown had left a couple of lights on low. The hens were all perched around on the fence rails dividing the pig pens and on the posts (reserved for the matriarchs among them). They were clucking softly and contentedly. Jersey Girl was asleep in her pen, and all the pigs were pig piled tightly together in each of the pens and snoring and grunting away. Poor Mr. Studly had to sleep by himself.

Now as it happened on our visit, Dirty Pig, the largest and grandest of the three sows was heavy with children and about ready to deliver. Beth, particularly, was ecstatic and proceeded to pet Dirty Pig and talk soothingly to her to try to help prepare her for her imminent child birth. She grunted in return and looked forlornly at Beth. When Farmer Brown saw how Beth was taking to porcine midwifery he mentioned that he and Mrs. Farmer Brown needed to go to some event that night in the big city—Montpelier—and he asked Beth if she could stay with Dirty Pig to help deliver her little piglets should they pop out that night. All she had to do was get into the pen with Dirty Pig, calm her down, and when each little one came out, wipe it off and wrap it in a warm cloth and set it nearby until Dirty Pig was ready to nurse all of them. Then she could bring them all to their mom. He was a little vague as to how she should deal with the umbilical cords and the placenta. Was that something that Dirty Pig could do on her own? Did I mention that Dirty Pig weighed 8000 pounds and was now moaning and grunting menacingly like a sow in labor? Beth hesitantly agreed to be the midwife. What? Was she crazy? Fortunately for Beth and the rest of us, Dirty Pig did not have her babies that night. When they finally did arrive, they were pink and not dirty. Holding a piglet is an endearing experience. They are solid around the middle, and they tend to wiggle.

Before we left, one last time we petted Dirty Pig, Mr. Studly, many of the other pigs, and Jersey Girl. That night, John got out of bed and asked if he could go to the barn again and spend some time there. We said, “Sure.” He found the barn to be a magical place. That it was.