“Just great.”
I race past the sign that readsDancing Trails Farmand run to the top of the hill, where the house sits. I’m winded, and my side’s killing me. I pause just long enough to rest my arm on the side of the house. That is, until I hear a—
Boom.
Fear rushes through my bloodstream, making my heart convulse.
Oh no. Sally’s killed one of them!
“Stop! I’m here!”
I wave my hands in the universal sign of surrender as I plow down the hill and finally get a good look at what’s going on.
Sally’s in her pasture, raising the gun and kicking the air in an attempt to frighten the pigs, who are paying her absolutely no mind, not even after the shotgun blast.Thatwas apparently a warning shot, as no piggies have been injured.
Thank God.
Behind her, more than a dozen unicorns watch the scene with silky black eyes. They stand tall and magnificent, white coats shimmering in the early-morning sun. Shoulder muscles ripple. Delicate golden horns dazzle. Right on cue, a breeze ripples through their rainbow manes, making the creatures look picture perfect.
I can’t help but stare at them for a brief moment before my gaze falls on the piggies. As opposed to the unicorns, they are not picture perfect. Their spindly legs and round bellies make them look like potatoes stuck on toothpicks—potatoes that are currently invading the unicorns’ feed trough like ants at a picnic.
This is Sally’s beef, and I can see why.
Almost two dozen of them surround the feed bin. Several piggies scramble to jump into it, launching themselves like dogs trying to land on a couch. Most don’t make it. One, however, does catch the edge with its front legs. The pig struggles to climb inside, but it can’t get its hind legs up under it. In the end, it slips, landing on its back atop the grass below before flipping over and trying again.
Some pigs never learn.
Others have been more successful in their jumping attempts. A few stand in the trough, foraging the feed like they’re plowing farmland, and in the process, nosing it over the rim. Grain falls in a glittery shower that creates small piles on the dewy grass. There, the piggies who’ve given up trying to get in are greedily munching. Eager to eat as muchas possible, half a dozen of them shoulder and shove one another aside, accidentally bumping the trough.
The trough takes a hit and rocks back onto the fence. Neither the pigs nor Sally notice that the contraption is balancing precariously.
“Sally,” I yell, racing toward them.
She looks up just as the pigs slam into the trough again, this time from the opposite side.
And that’s all it takes to bring the whole thing down.
The piggies squeal in fright, racing to get out of the way as the wooden bin falls. The ones inside the trough are smart enough to stay put. When it hits the ground, they roll out, riding the feed like surfers as a wave of grain spills out onto the grass. I groan as a piggycorn slides on her rump atop the grain, coming to an abrupt halt when she bumps into my foot.
She blinks up at me, looking adorable and guilty at the same time.
“Tallulah, what have y’all done?”
Sally marches toward me, glowering. Her unicorns stamp and blow in annoyance. Meanwhile, the piggies are now free to eat as much feed as possible, seeing as how it’s now all over the ground. None of my drove are hurt, and they snort happily as they gorge themselves.
Sally is still waving the gun.
“Don’t you do anything stupid,” I snap.
She lifts the barrel, pointing it to the sky, and yells, “They destroyed my property. Those pigs ain’t nothing more than a nuisance. The whole lot of them should be made into sausage!”
My heart’s racing as I reach the rest of the drove. “Y’all stop eating that and come home. Look, I brought your feed.”
The pigs recognize my voice and look up. Tallulah, who’s right on my heels, is the smallest and my personal favorite. She takes a step toward me and presses her snout in my hand, sniffing. Her face drops enough that the small golden horn protruding from her head brushes my arm. Then she looks up and returns to the mess of feed.
Which I now recognize as the piggies’ favorite.
“What gives, Sally? Why do you have the piggycorns’ food? That’s why they’re here.” I throw up my hands. “They probably smelled it from across the road. You know how good their noses are.”
