Pigs In Paradise. Roger Maxson

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      “Do not be seen with the heretic pig of the great heresy or allow the beast to pour mud and water over your head or you, too, will be a heretic. I bring you the good news that we are all chosen as God’s children in the company of humans who protect and nurture us. Then feed on us, for this is the way of the Lord, the way of life, our life, as it is written and handed down through the ages. In a vision, I saw us led from our present condition to freedom.”

      “Yes, it’s the part where they feed on us that scares up all the farm animals to flock to the great Mel, the Mule,” Julius said. “Works every time.”

      “You will burn in hell.”

      “Thus, sayeth the mule.”

      “Atheist anarchist,” Mel said.

      “Anarchy malarkey,” Julius said and addressed the animals below in the sanctuary of the barn. “Use your brains. Think for yourselves. Yes, we’re animals, but please, surely, we can think for ourselves, and forge a way through life.”

      “You are not among us.”

      “Listen,” Julius said, “the mule preaches fear, loathing, and superstition.”

      “What does, loathing mean?” One of the animals said.

      “You are not one of us.”

      “Yes, you are domesticated animals, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a herd.”

      Mel said, “Is there nothing sacred?”

      “Yes, nothing,” Julius stated. “There is nothing sacred.”

      Here came Mousey Tongue, scurrying over one of the beams above the sanctuary of the barn with the capitalist pig, Mousetrap in close pursuit. Mousey Tongue was a communist who thought everything should be distributed evenly as long as everything first came through him. He had a high-pitched, squeaky voice, and no one could understand anything he ever said. The capitalist pig, Mousetrap couldn’t care less what Mousey Tongue’s political philosophy on economics was. He just wanted to eat the little bastard.

      “Scram you little rat,” Julius said as he and the ravens perched along another beam.

      “I am not a rat,” cried Mousey Tongue. “I am a mouse.”

      “What did he say?” Dave said.

      “Squeak, squeak, something like that,” Ezekiel said. “I don’t know rat.”

      “I am not a rat,” Mousey Tongue squeaked past them.

      “Well,” Ezekiel said, nodding toward the mouse, “before the cat gets his tongue?”

      “Oh, no, thank you,” Dave said. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”

      Mousey Tongue was also an atheist who, when not being pursued through the rafters by the capitalist pig, on occasion, defecated on the beams and took pleasure rolling his little turds over the edge, letting them fall where they may on the consecrated ground below where no one was the wiser, except the chickens who weren’t telling anyone. They were happy to clean house. As far as Mel knew, they were following rules number 5: “We shall not eat where we defecate;” and number 6: “We shall not defecate where we pray.”

      When Mel called everyone to prayer, the chickens and ducks fell into position with the sheep falling in behind them. The pigs scattered about the sanctuary, and fell prostrate on the straw, many of them falling asleep where they lay.

      “Well, at least those little piggies aren’t a herd,” Julius said.

      Blaise and Beatrice watched quietly from the safety of their stalls, as did Stanley, chewing his cud. The sheep pressed their muzzles into each other, and from side to side, front to rear, they fanned out behind the chickens and ducks in the sanctuary. As Mel led the congregation in prayer, the Luzein and Border Leicester folded their front legs and kneeled, but their hind legs remained upright as they prayed to God for deliverance from evil.

      “Know what I’m thinking?” Julius said to Ezekiel and Dave.

      “Bedtime?” Ezekiel said.

      “Shepherd’s pie,” Julius said as the sheep’s little white tails wagged happily. “I don’t know why. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been blessed with Shepherd’s pie. Have you ever had Shepherd’s pie?”

      “We’ve had mince pie,” Dave said.

      “Yes,” Ezekiel said, “and plum pudding.”

      “Mm, the corn, the mashed potatoes, were my favorites, mashed potatoes you can suck thru a straw. Sometimes peas and carrots were added, and those little pearl onions. I was never fond of lamb or ground cow, though. I have friends.”

      “May the Lord be with you,” Mel concluded.

      “And with you,” responded the domesticated animals.

      All the little lambs and piglets, the ducklings and chicks, gathered at Mel’s feet. They wanted to hear the story of how they came to be where they were in the world. “In the Beginning man stood upright in the Garden of Eden. He awoke to find himself in a mound of dung and sprang forth to greet the day. His name was Adam. As time went on, he grew increasingly bored, lonely in paradise. He asked God to send him a friend, a companion, someone he could play with. Thus, God, being the generous benevolent loving Father of all creatures, great and small, cut from Adam’s rib cage, a woman whose name was Eve. Once upon her feet, mud and dung were applied to Adam’s open wound to stop the bleeding. Since Adam was older, the first-born, and weighed more, he ruled all of Eden. Adam was a good man, a wise man, the father of us all who one day when asked by God, named each one of us as we were prodded and paraded by.”

      “Wow, that’s amazing! The zebra?”

      “Yes, the zebra.”

      “And the beetle too?”

      “Well, the beetle is an insect, but yes.”

      “What about the weasel?”

      “You must be referring to the parrot,” Mel said, but no one laughed.

      “And the Australian dingo?” snorted one of the younger pigs.

      Mel knew this was malicious intent. He would remember this porker.

      “And the sheep?” said a Border Leicester.

      “And he named the sheep too?” said her friend from Switzerland, a Luzein, and something of a rare breed.

      “Yes,” Mel said with what was as close to a smile as he could make, considering he was a mule. “And Adam named the sheep too.” Mel knew this was good, with all good intentions for these were sheep.

      They were of different breeds, though, the two dominant breeds on the moshav were the Luzein and the Border Leicester. The Border Leicester had a smooth hairless pink head with erect ears and a long roman nose with long, curly lustrous wool that was a much sought-after commodity used mostly for hand-spinning and other crafts. Although the Border Leicester were a long-wool breed with a long heavy fleece, СКАЧАТЬ