So Maria and I went into the Pig Barn just now. Got into snowboots, put the camera around my neck, took the .22. Opened and came in. Not sure if anything is still in there, as there are no tracks leading out, although there are plenty of places for a sleeping animal to hide, including the old Pig Cauldron where pigs used to be slaughtered. This space will soon be an art gallery, to be run by my former girlfriend. A dog would flush an animal out, but too dangerous if it’s rabid.

A rabid animal would most likely be staggering around, even challenging us. Saw and heard nothing, and I had the feeling whatever it was – a skunk or raccoon, mostly likely, judging by the tracks – has left. We hammered up the clapboard and left the door open. Life on a farm is like that, surely. One thing leads to another, and not two experiences are ever the same. Back to the work of a writer. There is no such thing as a no-kill farm. The natural world is not as placid as we might like. But it is not fun shooting a living thing. Rabid cats and raccoons have attacked and nearly killed Rose in our early days at the farm and I don’t even want to think of Frieda encountering one. Anyway, this looks like no big deal. I’ll go back and check later.