She did not want to collect pigs, but someone's joke gift morphed into an avalanche of porcine acquisitions. They ran the gamut: silly, classy, expensive, cheap, practical, useless, big, tiny, clever, hideous. Many were presents from friends, family, and students, but some were self-gifts, justified by their originality or the place they came from. Special shelves were made to house the mid-sized, shadow boxes provided homes to the tiny, and the rest evolved into an unplanned decorating theme throughout her home.
At first she tried to find spaces for all the piggies; after all, they were gifts. However, she eventually conceded that many of them needed new homes. She took pictures of those that would be leaving - to ease her vague feelings of guilt. Then the furry and fuzzy porkers were given to children or sold in a yard sale. Statuettes, plaques, pillows, candles, dishware, books, and other miscellaneous pig items that didn't sell in tag sales were donated to resale shops. And, after many months, the collection was scaled down to those that fit into designated display areas in (mostly) one room of her (much) smaller home.
There are, however, a few she notices often: the tiny glass flying pig sharing space with some inspirational mementos, the wooden pig bank that collects change for vacations, and the mug.
The woman's pigsty is much smaller these days, but she appreciates the people and experiences represented by pigs-past and pigs-present. And when she occasionally feels an urge to invest in a crafty pig thingy she sees in a market or shop, she satisfies the craving by taking a photo for her designated pig-collection room. No space or dusting required.