I have a major crisis going on in my life right now. I can no longer eat bacon. Or ham. Or pepperoni. It’s sad but true. You see, I have a pet pig. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. My WIFE has a pet pig. But, according to our wedding vows and the fact that I promised to love and support her through good times and bad . . . this makes little Hammy MY pet pig as well. It’s not all bad though. He’s cute and smart and surprisingly cuddly. He weighs less than our house cat, tipping the scales at a whopping nine pounds. He’s a pot belly pig. His weight may hit the triple digits as he grows into adulthood. “Just more of him to love,” says my wife Kenzie.

His name is not actually Hammy – it’s Nelson. Kenzie named him. “He just looks like a Nelson,” she said. And she’s right, you know? He does look like a Nelson. And he’s not the worst pet in the world. But back to my original problem – I can’t eat pork products anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s not as enjoyable anymore. I can’t begin to tell you how awkward it is to eat a delicious Jimmy John’s sandwich loaded with crispy bacon while looking your pig square in the eyes. While I was going to town on my delicious sub, he cocked his head at me and he snorted. He snuggled down into the couch pillows and stared at me as I gnawed on my bacon-filled sandwich. Nelson blinked at me with his long, wispy eye lashes. He didn’t say anything but I know he was judging me, for my actions were bordering on unethical. How can one own a pig and still enjoy eating pork products? Perhaps farmers of generations past had thick enough skin and hard enough veins to pull off such a feat without feelings of guilt and remorse. But I am merely a city slicker; a soft-hearted, wanna-be vegetarian who prefers not to think of where our meat products come from or the process by which they’re prepared.

And thus it’s with a heavy heart and noble conscience that I’m informing all my blog readers (all 4 of you) that henceforth and forever after I shall no longer consume pork products on account of Nelson. No more bacon-wrapped asparagus. No more pork chops. No more hotdogs or ham sandwiches. I’m going cold turkey. Speaking of turkey, I hope my wife doesn’t decide to bring home a pet turkey and pet cow. My lunch meat options would quickly vanish if that were the case.

On a serious note, my wife Kenzie is a wonderful “piggy mom”. She’s patient and kind with Nelson, and already has him trained to go potty on a leash in our front yard. For all intents and purposes, Kenzie is a regular old pig whisperer. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s good with all animals. She has a strange ability to connect with anything with gills, feathers, hooves, or claws. Nelson is getting along great with our dog and cat, by the way. They’re three peas in a pod, and often snuggle up together on the couch. We’re one chicken away from having a virtual funny farm over at our house. I guess in the end, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our house may be filled with strange creatures but it’s also filled with a lot of love. Next time you’re in the neighborhood, feel free to stop by and say hello to Nelson. Just look for the house with the pig standing in the front picture window.