Meg and The Two Pigs

Among the Yorkshire Moors lies a farm, Ivy Bank Farm. It was a peaceful, calm place. All was in order. Well it was before those pigs arrived... Before the night of the storm.

Pigs are intelligent animals. Clean. Affectionate. Sweet.

They deliver their babies in three months, three weeks and three days after breeding.

Some say they are divine creatures.

Well, that was what my owner Sarra told me one night in front of the stone grotto which housed her other pet, a monster of the night called ‘The Fire’. This pet was a roaring and spitting oddity, warming but dangerous to touch.

Nevertheless, I find its angry nature can be subdued if I prostrate myself in front of it and listen attentively to its evening crackle.

It was on such an evening, while laid out in the position of humble petition under Fire’s warming glow, that Sarra followed up her description of the swine with the news that she was, in fact, purchasing two of them.

Two shaggy Tamworth pigs to be more exact. And in the summer after this revelation, the two hefty chunks of ginger fur and flesh arrived.

In the autumn, Sarra told me that the swine had found their mates. This I found particularly odd as I could not scent any male pigs in their muddy paddock or sty.

The pong always just belonged the pigs, Bo and Peep. These two had joined the sheep, chickens, cow and summer- time campsite that I, the farmer’s dog Meg, kept in check all year round.

We live in a cleft betwixt two rambling hillocks of the Yorkshire Moors, hemmed in by greens, greys and yellows of grass, drystone and moss at Ivy Bank Farm. (I know this because Sarra worked very hard one night to describe it for her campsite advert.)

I do know from experience that the winters here are devious. A cold snapping at your paws, forking at your fur. And when it is dark here, it is void.

A darkness that reminds me of those pigs’ eyes.

Sarra, my wrinkled and cloud-coloured haired owner, doted on those ginger fluffs.

Her husband Leonard, a stout and tubby stern-faced "it's all the government’s fault” farmer, did not. Leonard barely looked at the pigs, shaking his head when passing them.

"Mochyn budr” he would spit unintelligibly.

As I walked behind him I would copy, shaking my domino-coloured shaggy mane and spluttering low foamy snarls.

Leonard’s shadow. Leonard’s echo. (I wasn’t sure if Leonard did this too, but I also added a quick territorial marking to my fly-by. Just to emphasise our joint disdain).

Annoyingly though, Sarra loved her pigs, feeding them fresh apples each day. And so, as a loyal Border Collie I had to accept the ‘mucky snorts’ too, for her.

It was on one night in winter, when the storm hit, that everything changed. I remember the harsh whistling of the wind down the chimney, scaring poor Fire into her sleeping embers. The Winter Demon, I sighed, always so melodramatic.

At the roaring outside, Sarra snuggled down further into her throws on the sofa watching the news. Her brows were furrowed, fingernails chewed upon.

I lifted myself from the fire side rug and lolloped up to her, rubbing my snout up and down her leg as I often did to get a good rub under the chin.

"Not now, Meg.” She brushed me off without glancing, a rope-tightened strain in her quiet voice. I let out a pitiful whine and rubbed again. No response.

In a sulk, I trudged back to my bed, flopping down with a huff. If only Fire would come back out to play. Fire was barely fed these days, and I was worried Sarra would start forgetting about me too.

It was the swine. They were getting all the attention.

Apparently they were expecting their pups- or piglets- any day. And if the high pile of books on the coffee table were to go by, Sarra had done a lot of research to make sure she could help them.

They would probably need it. They were orange oafs. I pawed my snout, wishing I could have a bone.

Before another thought however, the kitchen and lounge lights cut out with a zap. Then TV gave an electric swap sound then fizzled to nothing, plunging us into darkness. My head jolted up, ears forward.

On high alert, I barked, warding off this strangeness with the knowledge of my canine presence. And then after a beat I jumped up and swiftly barrelled into the kitchen. The electric cooker’s illuminated time was off, as was the digital radio’s screen.

"It's all off!" I yelped. "Everything's dark!"

I whimpered again. From this distance the sheep could hear me, maybe the pigs. The chickens wouldn't care if they heard, brains the size of seed those folks, but I let out a series of sharp yaps just in case.

"Calm down, Meg. I'm sure it'll come on again in a moment." Sarra tenderly chastised, coming in behind me. I turned tail to see her arms outstretched, attempting to move around the darkness.

Wow. The cow was right, humans are related to moles.

I padded softly over to her, bringing my coat to her leg with a gentle whine so not to scare her. On feeling my fur, she crouched down, stroking and scratching behind my ear.

"It's just the electricity Meg, because of the wind. But… it’s late. I think I'll go to bed. Leonard’s already there. Night-night, Sweetie.”

And then with shuffled steps she disappeared out of the room. I started to follow her, to make sure she got there safely when I heard a strange grunting noise.

Argh what are the chances? I internally huffed. The pigs had heard me. And now they were trying to talk back. I say trying because pigs are profoundly incompetent in cross-species communication. Therefore, there was no barkin’ point attempting to talk back to them. I growled an exasperated sigh.

Yet, I was the Farm Dog for a reason. It was my duty to check on them.

On finding the backdoor was unlocked (again!) I teethed the handle and flung it open. Instantly my breath was stolen from me as the wind crashed in, slamming the kitchen door behind me shut with a loud bang. I grimaced, hoping that it didn’t disturb them upstairs.

I trotted out into the courtyard and was almost instantly sent horizontal by the wind. Even in the pitch black, I could make out the stripped ash trees close-by in the field straining against the Winter Beast’s fury. The rain lashed down in torrents, soaking my mottled fur in an instant.

I shook my coat and flung myself further into the tempest, pounding across the courtyard to where the pigs’ barn was. Soon I was squeezing through a small gap in the heavy barn door into where the swine had been brought, because they were expecting.

As I looked around, taking in the pigs’ luxury accommodation, hot jealousy coursed through my veins. There were furry blankets, huge amounts of fresh hay, food and even several high spec cameras with microphones set up in the barn’s rafters so that Sarra could check on the pigs at all hours.

She didn't want to leave them to birth the pups themselves. Apparently pigs can roll on to the young soon after birthing and squash them to death.

I was about to turn and leave. The pigs had received enough attention because of these chuffing babies and I wasn’t about to spend any more of my own on them. Hang duty!

Then I noticed with a head tilt, the cameras didn't have a blinking light. Like the electric cooker. And digital radio. The cameras were off.

I heard a loud grunt. My ears stood to attention.

Another gruff snort. Then another. And then I knew it.

Bo the pig, half crouched on the floor, was pigletting.

But Sarra wouldn’t know about it. The cameras and microphones were off. The human wouldn’t come and help them.

The birthing matter smelled like gone off steak. But I couldn’t look away. Along with fleshy slopping pops, I saw some of the pink spawn plopping out of Bo’s back hole.

This happened again. And again. 10 piglets were born altogether.

Then as Bo sank safely next to her younglings I saw the other one, Peep, swaggering over to Bo, grunting and starting the process herself. She trotted closer and closer towards her sibling, convulsing as she did and then begun to lower herself. 

I looked on with horror to see that the path of her collapse was right upon the heap of Bo's newly birthed blobs!!!

Instinct to protect took over. I couldn't stop it!

I bounded over their enclosure wall and snarled menacingly at Peep.

’Grrrr!’ I roared, fangs bared. Peep started back, utter shock shining back in those wide, dark eyes.

But she could not withstand nature’s call long, managing to shuffle back only a foot or two before plonking down. Fortunately away from the bundle of Bo’s wriggling babes. She then began to heave, pop and squelch her young out too.

After her six were born, in exhaustion, Peep started to roll backwards, which yet again put piglets - this time her own - in danger.

Rolling my eyes, I quickly skirted around to her bottom side and let out another low growl to change her direction.

She squawked, but did as instructed and halted her murderous trajectory, instead heaving forward on her small legs before keeling over to her side.

After much dog-waggling time, and promptings by me, the piglets wriggled towards Peep and began to suckle. I sat on my rump, adrenaline ebbing finally, utterly astonished with what had happened.

Nevertheless, my work was far from over. The wind howled and moaned outside making the barn creak and loose tiles rattle. The rain came down in incessant sheets, hammering down on us like volleys of rocks.

And yet, I stayed with Bo, Peep and the piglets. Guarding them through the watches of the night.

Sometimes I was nosing lost babes back to their mothers, other times shoving clumsy mothers away from squashing their babes.

Eventually the piglets nestled altogether apart from their weary mums, and I was able to stretch out my aching legs and with a large yawn, lie down.

As pale morning light filtered through the cracks between the wooden panes, dust particles danced in frantic swirls as the beams sliced down upon us. I heard the farm front door open, and Sarra’s quick steps towards the barn.

She was on the phone, struggling through the tail-end swacks of last night’s storm. I could still hear the Winter Beast gnarling and moaning as it romped around the hillside.

I glanced around and sat up tall, shaking my mane proudly.

Sarra would be so happy. Now she would feed The Fire to a blaze, and I’d get a good bone to chew on. I felt a bit sad not to be on Leonard’s ‘side’ anymore, but I couldn’t help it as I gave a final nuzzle to these little piglets that had come up along side me at some point during the night. I had half a dozen lovingly nestled up to my fur.

I was wrong! I admit it. I liked these orange tufts after all!

Then I heard an unlocking clang and then a creak of the barn door open.

"Storm Celia they are calling it. Yeah, yeah, we don't have power yet either, er - wait a minute, can I call you back Mum? The pigs have had their young! Gosh I hope they are ok!”

An old snarled women wheezed on the other end, replying with words I will never forget.

“Just remember darling, don’t get too attached to those swine, remember why you got them… remember where the little piggies are heading…”

The voice chuckled darkly, a burnt tar gurgling sound.

“…. right into my ham sandwiches!"

I longed to whine, paw at the ground and call back the demon storm with a mournful howl.

It is said that humans are intelligent animals.

Clean. Affectionate. Sweet.

Some would say they are divine creatures.
However, I would not.
Would you?

(c) R Thorp 2023

Author's Note

Hi! This is my first short story! Written for the Gen X eyes who need lots of paragraph breaks! Hope you enjoy this little story. More to come of Meg and her adventures.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Love the way you've written short chapters via long sentences, each lighting the path of your story. What's more you have created great visuals from start to finish, creating pictures that follow one by one to your your hard, caring work to the 'put to bed' ending. Truly enjoyed your cleverly created tale; it's original and makes great reading.

Rea, you are without doubt a wonderful story writer. Leaving a very loud BRAVO!

' It was on one night in winter, when the storm hit, that everything changed. I remember the harsh whistling of the wind down the chimney, scaring poor Fire into her sleeping embers. The Winter Demon, I sighed, always so melodramatic.

At the roaring outside, Sarra snuggled down further into her throws on the sofa watching the news. Her brows were furrowed, fingernails chewed upon '

(More, please.)

[Rea_writer]

Aww this is so kind Emma! Thank you! The second story of Meg is coming soon! Are any of these writers on instagram? I am there as rea_writer :-)

[emmajoygreen]

Instagram? I don't know about other writers, I'm not. Why not post your stories in writers cafe as you appear to be a member in here. There are quite a few very good story writers in here, so you would certainly receive some good feedback very kindly put. Take care and thanks for getting back to me.

[Rea_writer]

Great thank you! :)