“But Jolene Dandy said—” the woman in overalls started, looking confused.
“This is my home.I rescue animals.This is not a petting farm.”
Both women frowned.
From around the corner in the direction of the duck pond, three more women, and five small children—toddler age—all came wandering over.Two of the women also wore babies in carriers.And there were two men and three children still at the fence feeding something to Piñata and Galahad.
“We couldn’t find the baby horse,” said a blonde woman with dreadlocks piled high on her head.“Is this guy the owner?”
Her friends nodded.
“Why are you wandering around my property?”I asked as tingles raced down my arms into my fingers.I spread them wide at my sides, then bunched them into fists.My body grew warmer, and a nauseous feeling spread throughout my stomach.“This is private property.A child could fall in the pond.”
“Yeah, we noticed.You should really fence that off,” said another woman, bouncing a fussy baby in her sling, her other child was in gumboots, overalls, and no shirt, and he was currently pulling on Portia’s tail and laughing when she grunted and tried to move away from him.
“Stop that.She doesn’t like it,” I scolded.
The kid glanced up at me with wide, stunned eyes.Then he started to scream.
“We don’t like to tell Thunder no,” said his mother.“He’s learning about the world through natural consequences.”
“The consequence would be my pig biting him,” I exclaimed.“Portia,in casa, dai!”
Tired of being tormented by these rude creatures, my pig was all too happy to scamper up the porch steps, through her door, and into the safety of our home.
“Oh my god, she’s like a little dog,” the blonde woman in overalls exclaimed.“How cute.”
Two children, who could not have been over three, were now on my porch, on their hands and knees, snorting like pigs and trying to get through the door.I stomped up the steps and stood in front of the dog door so they couldn’t get inside my home.
“Please.Leave,” I articulated.
They all gave me a look like I’d just told them their children were most definitely going to grow up to be felons.
“Sharplyn, Steffanire, come on,” ordered the redheaded woman.
The boy and girl, who I should have known belonged to her, given their matching hair, stood up and raced to her side where they each reached into her pocket and pulled out pacifiers and popped them into their mouths.
“This isn’t veryislanderof you,” said another woman who, now that I looked, didn’t have shoes on.Her feet were filthy, and so were her children’s since they also didn’t have shoes.“We’re a tight-knit community.Nobody’s land is reallytheirs.If you know what I mean?”
“I know that I was not expecting company.My property is private, and you do not come onto someone’s property, try to enter their buildings, or feed their animals without their permission.You don’t know whether my horses have allergies or dietary restrictions.What are you feeding them?I don’t care how theislanddoes things.This is not howIdo things.Now, please leave.”
The stinky, dirty hippies and their stinky, dirty hippy children all glanced at each other, making faces of contempt and disbelief.But I stood my ground, in front of the dog door, and waited until every last one of their filthy feet was in a vehicle and heading off my property.
I was just getting the groceries out of my truck—the last of the trespasser’s vehicles at the top of the driveway—when another car turned down, heading toward my house.
Who the fuck was it now?
And of course, the redheaded woman, who had clearly suffered a brain injury right before she decided to name her children, opened her car door.“You’ll let this guy in, but not us?”she yelled at me before shaking her head.
Then they were gone, and my wife’s cousin Vincent parked his silver Chrysler Sebring at the base of my porch steps.
Portia was back out through her door, but she didn’t approach Vincent the way she normally approached visitors.She stayed on the top step, watching him warily to see how I greeted him.
My pig was really fucking smart.
“Hey, Tommy,” Vincent said, flashing me a big fake smile as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.Then he proceeded to light the thing and take a deep inhale as he made his way over to me, eyes scanning the property like a hungry snake eyed a wounded rabbit.
Even though I’d asked him several times to call me Tom or Tommaso, he always called me Tommy.
