A large, dirt-caked truck came rumbling up to the farm. The late afternoon sky cast a peculiar yellow-green haze and the wind was unusually chilly and harsh. All the pigs were huddled together to watch the metal beast roll up through the gate. Seeing trucks come in and out was common, but they had never seen one like this before. Its paint seemed to match the sky’s strange color and the empty, fenced-in bed was full of crates, cages, chains, and metal cuffs that rattled and clanged with each bump. 

    “What or who do you think those are for?!” whispered Karl’s mother, Mrs. Piggleston.

    “Don’t worry, Mum,” assured Karl. “The truck’s a bit larger than normal to be sure, but I'm sure it's just here to pick up vegetables, that's all.”

    “I’ve never seen a vegetable that required restraints!” Peggy Pig retorted. 

    “Sure you have - rotten tomatoes,” Kevin snorted a laugh.

   “Don’t joke, Kevin! I don’t like the looks of this,” his mother warned.

    Karl saw fear spreading across their faces. “Oh, come now….why are you all so scared? I'm sure          this is just an ordinary run, as per usual.”

   “Didn’t you hear about the Johnson Farm last week, Karl?” said Peggy. “Twenty pigs went missing      all in one night!”

    The pigs all gasped. Karl winced to find patience. 

   “You know better than to listen to those dreadful hens, Peg. They’re bored to tears and will squawk about absolutely anything to pass the time.”

   “But it actually happened, Karl!”

   “Peg.” Piggleston shook his head and walked away, ruminating in his thoughts. I dare say it never fails. Crazy, unfounded rumors whenever the tiniest blade of grass is out of place on this farm. It’s bad enough my own family bought into those preposterous claims that new rooster made about himself starring in three Hollywood films. My twisted tail he did. That dodo bird couldn’t act his way into a Nativity play.

   Piggleston liked to take a stroll to the woods every evening right around sunset. There was a secret hidden path in the woods leading to a beautiful clearing with lots of white truffles to root around for - and only he knew about it. As the day carried on and the truck was still there, the other animal’s fears only blossomed and rumors became nuttier by the hour, so Piggleston decided to leave for his walk a bit early to get away from the commotion.

   While strolling along the path, he started to mutter. “My mom’s a smart pig. I can’t believe she got caught up in all the mass hysteria! I mean Peggy I can see. She’s always been a bit jumpy…well, figuratively anyway.”

   Piggleston found his usual spot in the clearing, settled down on a grassy patch next to the tree log in front of the pond, crossed his hooves, and gazed at the sky. The eerie clouds had evolved beautifully into cotton-spun pink wisps with swirls of purple and were beginning to sink behind the treetops. Just before fading into sleep, a sudden, sharp cry in the distance jolted Karl awake. A little unnerved, he felt an urgency to return home so he trot his way back to the path. As he got closer to the farm, the same cry rang out again, then a squeal, then another, until it was a group of squealing pigs. Karl’s legs became swift as he raced back to his family’s pen.