THE MAIN problem with the world, as far as I'm concerned, is that too much emphasis is placed on lines and not enough on circles.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not knocking lines. They're great for stepping over cracks in sidewalks to avoid breaking your mother's back and for drawing great designs like bridges that hold up under earthquakes and other natural disasters. But then again, at times, there are certain problems that go along with lines.
For instance, while the shortest path between two points may be a straight line, the most direct approach isn't always the best way to get from point B to point A.
Sometimes it's far better to circle around a mountain than to tunnel through it. Without a doubt, straight lines are terribly rigid and boringly predictable. They have the bad sense to break before they bend.
Circles, squiggles and swirls are far superior in doubt, look at spaghetti, which is a good indicator of universal truth. It stands rigid and tall before it's about to fall into the boiling water. Then it twirls.
Lines can be downright frightening. Look at those who believed the Earth is flat. If they walked too far, they believed, they would fall off the edge of the horizon.
Those who have flown over the Midwestern cornfields, where most land is divided into squares, know the advantages of circles.
Circles have no sides, and when they meet to say hello, they touch only at one point and respect each other's space.
But when squares come too close together, border disputes may arise between neighbors when one wants to build a wall of glass — and the other, a wall of stone.
King Arthur, who was a wise man, declared that his table should be round. That way everyone sat at the head of the table — and everyone sat at the bottom.
Circles are really rather friendly. That's why we have circles of friends, not squares. And at parties, how would it be if everyone stood around in lines?
With circles, there's never any beginning and there's never any ending. They're very forgiving.
On a one-way street that runs linear, if you miss something, there are no second chances unless you back up. But on a cloverleaf or roundabout, you get as many chances as you need to find what you're looking for.
—Lisa Lieberman is a reporter for the Hanford Sentinel.
Tears streamed down Penny Daughtery's face the day her friends came to take Jimmy Dean away. "We'll give him a good home," they said, trying to console her. You can come visit him any time you want," they said. Still Penny could not stop crying as she tried to say good-bye at the front door. They were just about to leave with Jimmy Dean, when her husband stopped them. "No, don't take him. We’re going to fight this thing," he said.
Jimmy Dean is a pot-bellied pig who lives in Cherokee Oaks. And on September 21, he was issued his walking papers by the county, who claims that he is a farmyard animal and is violating county ordinance which bar "farmyard animals" from residential areas.
But to Penny Daugherty, Jimmy Dean is a member of her family, who's lived with them for the past year since he was only a few weeks old. “You raise a pet since when it's a baby, and it (doesn't matter) if it’s a dog or a cat. You're around it every day; you spray it down, you scratch its tummy, you play with it...you get attached," she says.
But actually, Jimmy is a little afraid of strangers. Upon initial meeting, he runs to the other side of the pen, eyes lowered, and waits to see what will happen.
"He's just shy," says Penny who affectionately calls him "son”. But after a few minutes, curiosity gets the best of him. He edges closer to get a whiff, have a nibble, and then even give a little kiss to the strange, new visitor, and wags his tail, which according to Penny, "means he's happy."
To the touch, his skin is very dry and rough. His hair is like human hair, although much coarser and sparser. He "speaks" in squiggles, squeaks, and squeals, but not in yips, yaps, or yowls. The county says that Jimmy is a nuisance and claims that they have received complaints from the neighbors. "But I can't see how he's disturbing anybody," says Penny. "He doesn't bark or bite or chase cows. He's just a peaceful animal, and isn't exactly a menace to society," she says.
Jimmy spends most of his time eating, sleeping, running around in circles playing chase, and blowing bubbles in his "swimming hole." ''He likes affection and attention, and especially likes getting his tummy rubbed," the Daughertys say.
Other than that, he doesn't do much else, Tom says. "He's not much of a watch pig. He even gets scared of loud noises and runs to the other side of the pen when I turn on the saw," he says
One of the county's charges is that Jimmy is "dirty' "offensive." But the Daughertys fear that prejudice against pigs may be at play.
"It's a common misconception that pigs are dirty,” says Joan Laplante who lives on the Christian ranch with a pot-bellied pig named Oprah. "These kind of pigs are very clean. They sleep and eat and mess in different spots. They wallow in the mud for their own protection, because they have no sweat glands to help them cool off the way humans do."
Although the county claims that there have been neighbor complaints about Jimmy, no one has come forth publicly. Some residents in the surrounding areas didn't even know that Jimmy was there. "What pot-bellied pig?" one person said. "I thought he had already left," said another.
Harold Van Winkle. one of the closest houses to the Daughertys, said that he "didn't have any qualms with the pig," and that a lot of the neighborhood kids from the local day care center often go over to visit the pig.
Another neighbor stated that she had "smelled smells" when she passed by the pen, but had never actually smelled them around her house.
Ruth Schampell, who lives directly across from the Daughertys claims she's never smelled anything. “1 don't smell it, and my smellers' pretty good. I've never seen it (the pig). I go in and out all the time, and if they didn't have it penned up, I'd see it," she said.
Mary Caruso, who lives next door to the Schampels, did say, however, that she had seen Jimmy Dean come "snooping" around her yard one day, but that he got a "good spanking" from his owners afterwards and never came back again. While the county classifies Jimmy as a "farmyard" animal, the Daughertys are quick to say that Jimmy is a pot-bellied pig who is not being brought up for slaughter or monetary gain. “He's our pet and we love him," they said.
Commanding anywhere from $300-$3,000, these pricey pet pigs were first introduced into North America from China in 1985 as "exotic pets". Since then, they have become so popular that their numbers have expanded from only a handful to over 36,000 in the United States in just a few years.
Tim Wilson, a Three Rivers resident who is the owner of one pot-bellied and two farmyard pigs, says, "I'm for the pig. Pigs don't make as much noise as dogs, and if people can have dogs, they should be able to have pigs."
Wilson says that his pot-bellied pig "lies around doing nothing all day," and that he has actually had to separate his farmyard pigs from his pot-bellied pig, "Georgio", who is much more easy going and docile than they.
Pot-bellied pigs differ from the ordinary farmyard variety in a number of ways. Their bellies sag, their ears stand up straight rather than flop over, they've got a straight tail, rather than a curly one, and their weight ranges anywhere from 35-150 pounds where-as full-grown farm pigs can easily get up to over 1000 pounds.
Admittedly, Jimmy Dean is a bit on the hefty side, weighing in at around 150 pounds. "He loves biscuits and gravy and eggs, (especially gravy)," says Penny who sometimes brings him home piggy pouches from the Noisy Water where she works.
The Daughertys say that Jimmy's getting too heavy now for his own good, and that they've had to put him on a diet. "It hasn't been easy for him, though," says Penny. "He sits and whimpers at the gate, begging for more, and sometimes tries to steal food when no one's looking," she says.
Although pigs are known as being one of the most intelligent mammals on earth, coming in 4th, only after humans, apes, and dolphins, the Daughertys make no claims of fame about Jimmy's genius. They do say that he "knows who his mom and dad are," and that he always comes running up to the gate when he sees their car coming.
While pot-bellied pigs are not classified as household pets, as of yet, neither are they technically classified as farmyard animals, according to county records.
Some cities such as Berkeley, Sacramento, and Burbank, have changed their city ordinances to allow for pot-bellied pigs in residential zones.
Catherine Anderson, the Tulare County's Code Compliance Coordinator, says that the county is now taking a closer look at these "new kinds of pets that people are bringing into the area."
Meanwhile, Jimmy Dean must be evacuated from the premises by October 21st, otherwise the Daughertys will face fines of $50 a day.
"We're not going to give up without a fight. We're not rich people, but we'll pursue this for as long as we can," says Penny. Since his number may be up any day now, Penny has been letting Jimmy Dean splurge on his diet, giving him such delicacies as pasta, donuts, and green beans for lunch. And Jimmy, who evidently is more of a believer in living for the moment than "saving the best for last", dives right into his feast, devouring the donuts first, and leaving the rest for last.
"He has the ideal life here," says Penny with a wistful sigh, "he sleeps when he wants to, eats when he wants to, and plays when he wants to without having to worry about being turned into bacon. Who could ask for anything more?"
FOR A LONG TIME, I thought I did the mouse in my house a favor by letting it live. I found out I was wrong.
The one mouse in my house brought his friend. They produced three mice, then four mice, then five. Even so, I hated the idea of killing them.
"Look here," I said with a sigh, "we're both cream of the earth, so.you have as much right to be here I. But you stay away hidden during the day and on't come out to play until night when the lights are aII out, and then you can scurry and run around all bout."
For a long time, they abided my wishes and stayed ut of the kitchen while I cooked and cleaned and did ly dirty dishes. But thin one day they decided to ome out in hordes from the kitchen floorboards, perhaps in hope of finding life on the outside a bit more exciting.
Out in open sight, even in broad daylight, I found em in bathroom cabinets and kitchen drawers.
"Eeeeeek," I screamed. But they didn't care. Upon seeing me, they slipped ugh the crevices.
"Look," I pleaded, "I don't want to harm you. I just want you to go away far far from my home and leave me alone."
But my silly entreaties didn't charm or alarm them. Not even a bit.
My friends, meanwhile, called one an achey-hearted liberal. "Look what you've done. You've given them an inch, and they've taken a mile."
I dreaded the thought lying awake, waiting for the sound of those godawful traps snapping off their tiny little heads. I dreaded how the next morning I would have to pick them up by their tails and toss them into the garbage pail.
Finally, when I discovered a mouse in my bed, a new thought popped into my head: The original mouse would have been better off dead. The problem I had decided to ignore had turned into war.
So I set about a dozen traps and heard them go snap, snap, snap all through the house. And then, in a somber mood, I apologized to the great-grandfather mouse for letting him live and killing his brood, which I hoped he could forgive.
"Dear Great Grandfather Mouse," I said in my now-mouseless house. "Everyone knows how the old say-ings goes: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and sometimes you have to be cnfel to be kind. I only wish I had known a little sooner that its best not to pretend that little problems are OK when they're not."•
Lisa Lieberman for the San Francisco Examiner.
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