I was brought up in the Buckinghamshire countryside next door to a family farm. Climbing up the five-bar gate and leaning over the fence, I loved to watch the cows in the yard and the noisy pigs in their sty. I wasn't so keen on the horse flies that caused huge lumps to appear where they bit me!
A childhood playmate also had a pig-sty in her garden, which we were sometimes allowed to go into and play with the piglets and to feed them. I don't remember the smell or the mud, just the wriggly pink pigs we held in our arms.
Mum taught me when I was a little girl about how intelligent cows are. She was in the Land Army after the war and her job was to milk the cows morning and evening. The herd had a Hierarchy, going into the milking shed in the exact same order every time. If a cow tried to cheat and go into the shed early, the others would kick it until it went back into it's proper place. Each of her cows also knew its own name.
Perhaps, because of my upbringing I became a vegetarian in adult life, who knows?
What I do know is that I have a soft spot for images of either cows or pigs to this day, and for the animals themselves of course. So this little milk jug was a lucky find in the local market.
It's glaze is cracked, and there's a few chips in the china,
but I think it's Delightful.
It only cost a few pence and I've found a use for it already .........
.....as a cute Crochet Hook Container.