08/01/2026
**Excuse me.**
I'm told this is where I'm supposed to introduce myself.
My name is... well... I don't actually have one yet. Which feels a little rude considering I've been adorable since June 17.
I'm an English Large Black boarling, which basically means I come equipped with built-in earmuffs.
Those giant floppy ears? Excellent for looking handsome.
Seeing where I'm going? Slightly less excellent.
So here's the deal...
If you walk into my pen, I require one of two things:
🥕 Snacks.
🖐 Belly rubs.
Preferably both.
Please announce your arrival first.
Not because I'm unfriendly.
Because these magnificent ears have the unfortunate habit of covering my eyeballs. If you sneak up on me, there's a solid chance I'll jump approximately six inches into the air before realizing it's just you.
Then I'll immediately forgive you and jog over hoping you've brought snacks.
Or belly rubs.
Or snacks **and** belly rubs.
I'm not picky.
I like people.
Like... *really* like people.
I'm usually the first one to meet you at the gate, I'll happily leave nose smears on your jeans, weave around your feet while you try not to trip over me, and if you scratch my belly, you've basically cancelled the rest of my afternoon.
My brothers think they're busy doing pig things.
I'm busy making sure you don't leave without saying hello.
Now... let's talk about my future.
I'm looking for a farm with a few nice ladies (I'm not asking for dozens... but I'm also not opposed...), a mud hole for hot afternoons, deep straw for winter naps, and a human who understands that the best boars aren't just measured by the piglets they sire.
They're measured by whether you actually enjoy walking into the pen.
I've overheard my humans talking.
Apparently not every pig greets people like a puppy.
Apparently not every pig thinks belly rubs are a perfectly reasonable part of livestock management.
Apparently that's... "special."
I don't know about all that.
I just know life is better when visitors come with scratches and snacks.
If you're looking for a boar that's going to grow into 700 pounds of attitude...
I'm probably not your guy.
If you're looking for 700 pounds of gentle curiosity, floppy ears, heritage genetics, and the kind of temperament you hope he passes on to every litter...
Well...
I think we should meet!
(Just make some noise before you walk up. Remember the ears.)
Get ahold of the lady who shared my ad!
