But then I'd have ruined the moment.

I've never once walked in the barn during work hours and not seen a human. Not in seven years. But today it happened. Alex was up in the large hill pasture reinforcing fence. (Two mules arrive Sunday--their family's farm is in foreclosure--and one of them, Blackjack, is nicknamed Houdini. "Got a weak section, he'll find it," his owner explained.)

Meanwhile, Lorraine, Betsy, and volunteer Mary Ellen Moore were cleaning the large cow barn at the back of the farm. Only I didn't know this.

Murphy and I walked into the barn. "Where's Lorraine?" I asked the yellow mutt, who trotted toward the kitchen halfway down the aisle in search of his pal.

Five feet from the entrance, Rambo the sheep lay in the middle of the aisle, holding court. Beside him stood Norma Jean the turkey, gently pulling bits of hay from Rambo's wool. Potbellies Zoey, Charlie, and Ozzie were there, too; surprisingly, they weren't searching for food. They were simply there, enjoying the company of their friends.

I plopped down with them. Murphy did, too, right by my side. To my delight, the animals allowed us to enter their peaceful circle--and just to be with them. No one charged over to beg for food; neither did anyone walk away because a dog and a human had entered their space. Hannah, Rambo's woolly pal, the sheep found in a Queens cemetery, strolled over to nuzzle Murphy the way she always does. Mufasa the goat was with her. Above all of us, Max, the sweet old gelding who recently moved into Dino's stall, hung his big head over the four-foot stall wall, and there we were together: two sheep, a turkey, a goat, three pigs, a horse, a dog, and a human.

For a few precious minutes we sat...that's all. Miraculous simplicity.

But then Claude, the giant pink pig with the bad leg that earned him free-range status lest he be picked on by the stronger, more dominant pigs in the pig pasture...Claude strolled in from the far end of the barn.

"Hey, big man...hey sweet pig," I called softly to him. A few heads turned in his direction.

"Mmmph..." he responded. And then he walked not into his stall the way he typically would, but past it, straight toward us. He walked right up to Max the horse, his scratchy pink back nearly level with Max's muzzle, and he lifted his snout to Max and there they were, wet pink pig nose pressing into soft black horse nose. They stood there, pig to horse, Claude looking up intently, somehow knowing that Max would not lunge at him the way the horses typically do at the big pigs.

Laugh, shake your head, call me anthropomorphic if you're skeptical or obtuse or disconnected, but I experienced what I experienced, and what I experienced on a cold winter day was pigs and turkeys and goats and humans and horses and sheep and dogs enjoying each other's company. Happy just to be.

Yes, we are a most unusual family, but we are a family nonetheless.