Thorndon Flats, Wellington

The morning ritual was the same. Andrew navigated down the muddy path towards the pigpen at the bottom of the garden. The birds were waiting and a chorus of chirps and tweets greeted him as he approached the pen. The birds always helped themselves to the food that Pork-Chop missed. As usual, the sow was waiting behind the bush and Andrew could see her moist, glistening snout poking through the branches as she lie in wait for him to approach, her eyes ...