BEATRICE 



is up and about at once, and to cross the barnyard 

 with a pail of anything is quite a feat. Occasion- 

 ally I take a pail of swill to the granary to add a few 

 handfuls of chop-feed before giving it to Beatrice 

 and I find the experience rather exciting. She makes 

 a squealing rush at me as soon as I open the gate 

 and tries to get her nose into the pail. I kick her out 

 of my way and then cross the yard to the granary 

 door, kicking back like a horse at every few steps. I 

 have heard at different times about educated pigs, 

 but I seriously doubt if any trainer has been able 

 to teach a pig table manners. You can teach a dog 

 or a cat or a horse to beg for a dainty morsel, but I 

 don't believe any one could teach a pig to wait when 

 food is in sight. Beatrice wants what she wants 

 when she wants it, and she doesn't care who hears 

 her asking for it. 



When Beatrice arrived she was put in the pen in 

 which we kept the two pigs that we fattened for 

 home-cured pickled pork and bacon, but it didn't 

 seem to give her a chance for sufficient exercise, so 

 we decided to shift around the pigpen so that it 

 would give her an entrance to the barnyard. Since 

 that has been done there has been nothing but 



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