Oh to be a pig in a meadow on a sunny spring day . . . grazing with Brother Goat in the barely perceptible shade of a red bud in full bloom. Some pig he was, stout and pink as the flox that's carpeting the banks of the road these days. And his ears were so delightfully sharp that it made us certain that he was tuning into the best local jazz station by some sort of hog radar magic.