It all started so well. I was up out of bed at 7 o'clock sharp (why sharp?) in a particularly good mood, washed, dressed in my best going-tae-the-toon clothes and ready for a day out.
Coffee and toast made and consumed, I loaded up a bucket with barley and tatties and went to see the sows. At this point things started to unravel.
The first sign that something was wrong was that Little Kim was where Molly should have been. She was snuffling around the hut while Molly cowered inside. Then I noticed a loose strand of electric fence wire. . . and a couple of broken plastic fence posts. . . and a twisted section of stock fencing.
I put some food on the ground (in two separate places - sows aren't good at sharing) and the girls tucked in. Then I spotted the blood on Little Kim's ears. And on her cheeks. And on her back. Molly had a cut on her ham and scratches on her face.
You didn't have to be Sherlock Pig Farmer to work out that Little Kim had bust her way through a line of electric wire, a stock fence and - from the lacerations on her back - a barbed wire fence. The lengths some people will go to to start a ruck.
With only 15 minutes until the ferry left for town, the day out was abandoned, purple spray was liberally applied and the rest of the morning spent repairing fencing and adding extra security measures.
I'm now going to Kirkwall on Wednesday. . . possibly.