Gathered into loving arms, though still traumatised from their experience, they were quickly named. The largest, on the left, is called Cameron, the one on the right, which The Diary thinks - but isn't quite sure - may be a girl on account of him/her wearing a skirt (though that doesn't mean much around here) - has been named Lachlina, and the small one in the middle is Pinkie Pig.
A nice bed was made for them out of an old curtain, and they were quickly at home - look at that sweet smile on Lachlina's face.
The next problem was food. We tried all sorts of things - porridge, oatcakes, mashed tatties with lashings of butter, even haggis - to no effect. It was quite by chance that we found a solution, when Pinkie Pig....
Of course we would like their real owner to come and claim them but, should that person not have the courage to approach us, we intend to adopt them legally. The Diary has to point out that these are a totally different class of pig from those down the road and, therefore, quite appropriate citizens for this, west end of the village. For a start, Lachlina can talk. She can count to ten, and says nice things like, "I'm a pig and I like rolling in muddy puddles".
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