“That’s not what I mean. Look ...” I pointed to where the pigs had rooted around in the dirt and leaves, going after some choice morsel.

A swish of its flexible tail, a snap of its savage teeth, and ranunculus disappeared—a choice morsel for breakfast.

These choice morsels are proffered to the home department, are received with smiles of gratitude, and devoured with a gust sharpened by long abstinence.