First written in 2022. 

 

“Is Farmer Drew coming with the ax today?” said her piglets. They crouched under her belly, afraid to peek out at the morning sun. Mother Pig could only rub the velvety noses of her twelve piglets: January, February, March, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, and December, and say, “Now, now, not today. Go and play.” December, the bravest of her piglets, was the first to play as he rolled around in the mud. Mother Pig could only look away, slumped over on the hay.

That was eleven days ago.

“Is Farmer Drew coming with the ax today?” said December, rose-pink skin sparkling with a fresh layer of mud. His siblings had left, one by one. To play, Mother Pig had explained.

Mother Pig sighed. “Now, now, not today," she said.

“Oink, oink! There he comes!” said December.

Mother Pig heaved herself to her feet, ears perked. The sound of rubber boots swished in the mud. “Don’t get so excited, December. See the yellow bucket? It’s time for supper, that's all.” December wiggled his tail, squealing, as Farmer Drew dumped the bucket into the long steel trough inside the pen. Mother Pig and her piglet started chomping down their meal.

“Bacon! My favorite!” said December.