Pigs

“Make sure the pigs are secure tonight.” Dad’s words hung over me like the smell of those pigs. I stomped out to the pig pen. All the pigs were out, in their small outdoor pen. The door to the barn, closed.

“Drat. I hate pigs.” I marched into the barn. Inside were pigs. What? “What are you doing in here?” I opened the door to let the outside swine in. The two groups mixed with a bunch of squalling and squealing. I struggled to get the door shut, then left the barn, shutting that door as well.

“Piggies all in?” Dad asked as I got back inside.

“All done. There were some already inside. The barn gate was closed. I let those in.”

“Huh, that’s weird. Check that tomorrow.”

While I was in the shower, I repeated my mantra, ‘I hate pigs. I hate pigs.’ I couldn’t wait to get out of here. In a year, that’s all the time I had left. When I moved back a few years ago, I gave my limit to Dad of three years. Just enough time to help out, then I was out of here and back to my own life in Ingomar.


The next morning Dad called me into the barn.

“Son, how many pigs were in here last night?”

“Well, maybe fifty or so. I didn’t get an exact count.”

We did a quick scan by just quickly looking. You could tell there were more than fifty jammed into that space in the barn. Pigs on top of pigs, at least two hundred.

“Huh. Whad’ya’ know ‘bout that.” Dad scratched his head under that filthy ball cap.

“Where’d they all come from? They weren’t there last night.”

Dad stood with one foot on a railing. “Well, now seems to me someone told me this here’s been happenin’ lately. Animals multiplyin’ in the night. Weird.” He surveyed the miasma squirming in front of us.

“You think?” I looked to leave, but Dad continued.

“Yep, weird stuff goin’ on lately. Like the animals are gangin’ up on us.”

“Right…” He’d lost it. Truly over the edge.

“Some say aliens are here. They’re takin’ the form of animals, gettin’ in that way. I mean, look at all these hogs. Are all they really hogs? How can a man tell? One would have to slaughter them all to find out now wouldn’t one.”

Sounded good to me. Kill them all. Hang the hams, makin’ bacon.

“Butch? You still with me? Whatcha’ thinkin’ on?”

“Now Dad, that is the goofiest thing I ever did hear. Aliens taking over by pretending to be animals. And farm animals at that. You’ve been listening to Dennis too much. He’s crazy. He listens to all those loonies on talk radio.”

Dad walked on out of the barn, mumbling something about I’d see, he was right.

The pigs squealed, hollered. I opened the gate and let the mess of them outside.


“Make sure the pigs are secure tonight,” repeated Dad. Each night like clockwork when the sun got low in the sky.

“Yessir. Doin’ it now.” I dutifully put on my boots and slogged down to the barn. Dark was settling in, the sodium light buzzing on lit my way.

The stink hit me half way. “I hate pigs. Dear lord in heaven. I do so hate pigs.” And again, the gate to the barn was closed. Pigs filled the outdoor enclosure. I opened the gate, pigs surged inside.

Once in the barn, I checked them again. Tonight the numbers had indeed increased again. Pig on top of pig. So many of those trotters never hit the mud. Closing the gate was almost impossible.

“I think we need to start killing some of the pigs,” I told Dad when I finally came up to the house.

“It’s not time to slaughter.”

“There’s too many now. They won’t fit in the barn anymore. They’ll start eating each other.”

Dad yawned, “In the morning. Things always look different in the morning.” Off he stumbled to bed.


We surveyed the swine situation in the morning. Dad grabbed one at random, a small porker that didn’t put up too much of a fight.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Look at that.”

The inside was entirely constructed of wires and batteries and other mechanical stuff, a fake pig.

“Who would put that in there?” asked Dad.

“Does it have a camera?” I took apart that pig machine, looking for any clues.

“How many more are like that?”

I stopped what I was doing and helped Dad. We started the slaughter.

After thirty or forty fake pigs, we gave up. The real swine we now could tell the difference. They stayed off to the back of the enclosure. I’ve heard pigs were smart. They knew they were next.

But there was one, it looked different. A little bigger than the rest. It moved a little differently than most hogs.

Suddenly that pig stood up on its back legs and started to speak.

“Are you really going to destroy all your pigs? Crazy humans, you’ve already dismantled my best soldiers. We came in peace. Why did you have to eliminate them? We just wanted a safe place to rest for a time. We meant no harm. Have you never heard of the custom of ‘quartering’? Let me enlighten you. It is the provision of accommodations or lodgings, especially for troops. Shame on you. The nation of Fortunata is going to be informed.” The pig went back on its four legs, blended into the rest of the hogs.

Dad looked at me. “Dennis. See, I told you he was on to something.”

“So what do we do? Fortunata? A pig talking? I think we’re both overtired.”

“No, Buster. It’s an alien. We give it safe quarters for as long as it needs. Leave it alone. We killed all its troops. How can it harm us now?”

“When pigs fly, Dad.”


W/C 992