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, 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 for 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.

​

   As part of his evening routine, Piggleston enjoyed a stroll in the woods right around sunset. There was a hidden path leading to a beautiful clearing with lots of white truffles to root around for - and only he knew about it. The other animal’s fears were only blossoming and the rumors becoming nuttier by the hour, so Karl decided to get a move on early and escape the commotion.

   While strolling along the pebbled 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 wisps with pinky purple swirls, just starting to sink behind the treetops. Right before fading into sleep, a sudden, sharp cry in the distance jolted Karl awake. A bit unnerved, he felt an urgency to return home so he started a healthy trot 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.