The Adventures of a South Pole Pig

by Chris Kurtz

  Luna yawned. “Dogs think cats are useless, which is a lie. They also think cats are lazy, which is true. Cats can’t wait to sleep, and dogs can’t wait to do stuff. They try too hard. The people who live in the house say that in a couple of months someone will come along and pay a lot of money for the dogs and take them up to the North Pole, where it is snowy and freezing cold, or down to the South Pole, where it is even colder and truly wild. Meanwhile, I will be spending my days choosing warm places to curl up.”

  Flora had so many questions, she didn’t know where to start. “What is money? Where is the South Pole? And why do people want to go where it’s cold?” She stared into Luna’s eyes without blinking so the cat would know she was listening—and waiting.

  Luna started to give herself a bath, but one look at Flora seemed to change her mind. “I can see we won’t be talking about anything else until you learn all you can about this North and South Pole business, so I might as well tell you.”

  Flora did a little dance with her front feet. Then she forced herself to be still and quiet, not permitting even one ear twitch or snout tremble.

  “No food can grow in the poles,” started Luna. “No corn. No vegetables. No nothing. But it doesn’t matter, because humans—well, some humans—like being where life is difficult and wild.” Luna let out a disgusted sniff. “These humans love to go to the poles to be truly miserable so they can come home and tell stories, and the dogs love to go so they can pull a sled every day. These polar sleds carry heavy loads that don’t feel heavy once they get moving because they slide along on their runners that are slick and fast. Everyone works hard and works as a team. The ones that don’t, die. That’s what people say, anyway, when they’re sitting around the fire at night talking, which is an excellent time for getting good ear rubs...”

  Flora made herself stay silent as Luna talked and talked, until the pig family woke up and started nosing around and asking Flora to teach them a new game.

  “A pulling game,” said Alfred.

  “See you next time.” Luna slipped off her post to the other side of the fence.

  Flora stuck her eye up to a crack between the boards so she could see her friend. “When you come back, will you tell me more stories about the poles? And ... do you think I’ll ever have another adventure?”

  “You just keep up your spirit. Trouble comes to us all. Adventure comes to those who choose it but turns into trouble quick if you don’t know how to land on your feet.”

  That night, Flora dreamed about the freezing-cold poles. In her dream, she lived in a house of snow. She shared stories with her team. And she pulled a sled.

  In the middle of the night, she woke up and walked to the top of the manure pile to see what had awakened her. A great yellow circle above the cornfield had slipped out from behind some clouds. The moon. It was the first moon Flora had ever seen. Her heart filled with the beauty of it, and she made a promise to herself. I will be prepared. And I won’t live forever inside this pen.

  Chapter 8

  The days gradually cooled, but the fire in Flora’s heart didn’t. Since her escape, each day at naptime, Flora walked around leaning and pushing against every single fence board as she listened for squeaks and creaks. But it was no use. There weren’t any loose planks. The man with the beard had made sure of that.

  It was hard not to get discouraged. Flora’s only brush with adventure these days came from listening to Luna’s stories. Luna went in and out of the farmhouse whenever she wanted, paying attention when the people talked. She had plenty to report.

  One time, Luna told Flora that fire was like magic to people. As soon as there was a fire in the fireplace, they would gather around and stare into it. The fire seemed to fill up their heads with memories and words, so many they’d come tumbling out.

  Flora loved Luna’s stories, but she also asked plenty of questions about her own interests. Flora wanted to know about oceans and icebergs, ships and storms. She wanted to know about the ocean’s creatures, such as what an octopus looked like. Eight legs? Like a giant underwater spider? Impossible ... and thrilling. Some days Luna was more talkative than others, and on those days, Flora even asked about dogs and sleds.

  When Luna wasn’t around, Flora practiced landing on her feet with a game she introduced to her brothers called Keep Your Hoof-Side Down. Everyone was supposed to take turns leaping and twisting in the air and still land standing up. But the game never caught on.

  Maybe her brothers didn’t like the game because they were getting too big. They were all eating solid food now from the trough, which made the shoving at mealtime an even mightier struggle. Mother needed her share too, and she was bigger than them all by far.

  Then one day, the farmer opened a gate at the back of the pigpen that had never been open before. Flora bounded through as soon as she saw what was happening.

  “We’re free!” she squealed. Then she noticed that her freedom was just another pen, only smaller. “Never mind—it’s still a cage.”

  Flora looked back at her family. Snouts crowded and sniffed at the gate, but no one stepped through.

  “Anyway,” Flora said as she started exploring the corners, “at least it’s new. There has to be stuff to dig up in here.”

  The farmer stepped into the old pen and began to shoo and shove Flora’s mother into the new pen. Mother clearly didn’t like it. “I have a bad feeling about this, children. Hold your ground, and Flora, get back home.”

  Mother locked her knees against the farmer’s pushing, and Flora joined her brothers in milling around Mother’s legs. But when the farmer stepped out and returned with a stick, Mother and all her children surged into the new pen.

  “It’s okay. At least we’re together.” Flora started running her nose close to the ground along the fence line. “The best way to know where to dig is to use your snout. At least that’s my plan.”

  “Look who else has a plan,” said Mother. Flora glanced up to see the farmer tying Mother to the fence with a rope around her neck.

  “Mama!” screeched Flora. “What’s happening?” She rushed up to her mother. “Pull away. Break the rope.”

  Mother pulled, but neither the rope nor the fence gave an inch. “I’m stuck, children,” she called. “Stay close to me.” Flora and her brothers crowded around her legs. The farmer walked through the open gate to the old pen and poured a bucket of delicious slops into the trough. They not only heard it; they smelled it too.

  “Dinner!” squealed her brothers, and they went dashing home to eat.

  “Come back!” Flora yelled.

  “Children!” Mother pulled against her rope again. “Don’t leave my side. It’s a trick.”

  Alfred stopped in the entrance. He looked back and forth. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “I’m hungry,” he whined. “I’ll come right back.”

  Flora could hear the slurping and pushing. “You guys are so dumb!” she hollered. She rubbed against Mother the way Luna would rub against her.

  Just then the farmer stepped back inside the new pen and closed the gate. He moved toward Flora.

  “Run, Flora!” called Mother.

  Flora backed in under Mother’s belly instead.

  Large hands reached in and grabbed one of Flora’s rear legs.

  “Get away, Flora!” Mother pushed against the hands with her body, but the farmer easily dragged Flora out, picked her up, and dumped her with her brothers.

  They had finished eating and now stood sniffing at the dividing fence.

  “Mama!” Alfred cried. “Why did they take you away?” He hit the fence with his little hooves. “I need you!”

  “You don’t need me, honey. Now, stop making all that fuss.”

  Alfred dropped down to the ground and put his snout under the gate. Flora nudged his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispered, and tried to make her snout stop quivering.

  Mother put her front feet on the fence and looked over at her children.

  “You’re untied!” Flor
a tried to reach her mother’s face, but she was too short.

  “Yes, I am,” said Mother. “And you are all big enough to be on your own now.”

  Alfred whimpered.

  “Anyway, I’m right next to you.”

  “Mama,” Flora said, her voice wavering, “why did they do that? Why did they move you?”

  Mother dropped back down. “Listen carefully, children. We are farm pigs, and farm pigs are not in control of their lives. Our food is brought to us each day, and if we ask for more than that, it will just make us unhappy and ill-tempered.”

  Flora led Alfred over to the trough to find a comforting morsel. It was cleaned out except for a bit of pumpkin that had fallen down between the trough and fence. Once he was done eating the snack and had fallen asleep for his nap, Flora climbed the manure pile to think about Mother’s words. When Luna came to visit, Flora had extra questions.

  “Why aren’t farm pigs in control of their lives?” she asked as soon as Luna was settled.

  Luna looked at Flora and twitched her tail. “You look as though you’ve been thinking about this pretty hard. What happened?”

  “Mama got moved out of our pen!” Flora stamped her feet. “Why do dogs and cats get to be in control of their lives and pigs don’t?”

  Luna shook her head. “Dogs make me jump into trees, and horses and cows will step on me if I’m not careful. I never know where my next meal is going to come from.”

  “But you get to listen to stories. And dogs get to have adventures.”

  “Dogs live at the end of ropes and leashes and harnesses. Yet nobody is happier than a slobbery dog. The trick is to have some control, enough so your life is satisfying and—”

  Bang!

  A terrific thump shook the ground. Luna flew off her post and out of sight. Flora turned in circles trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Her brothers were awake now and wide-eyed.

  Bang!

  It sounded like the farmer’s hammer, only much louder. It seemed to be coming from the horse stalls on the other side of the shed. Flora had almost forgotten about Nessie because she was such a quiet horse, but not today. Flora tried to see what was happening through the shadows of the shed.

  “Mama!” Alfred called.

  “Children!” called Mother. “Go to the far corner and stay there. Nessie is having a tantrum.”

  Flora stayed where she was. This she really wanted to see. She gazed harder into the shadows. Human shouts came from the cornfield, and two men came running.

  “Open the stall door before she hurts herself!” one of them called.

  Flora watched the broken gate swing open. As Nessie was backed out, her powerful hind legs struck high, breathtaking kicks that looked as though they could bring the barn down if they connected. One of the men tossed a blanket over her head, and suddenly she went quiet. Flora heard him murmuring in a low voice. The other man checked out the gate.

  Flora ran down the manure pile. “Mama, what was Nessie trying to do?”

  “Oh, honey,” Mother said. Her brothers gathered around to listen. “I heard that Nessie doesn’t like being in that stall for too long, and when she feels forgotten, her mean streak flares up.”

  Flora’s brothers went back to their naps, but Flora took a seat on the manure pile and wondered at the power of those kicks—and the feelings that inspired them.

  Chapter 9

  That afternoon, while the men worked to repair Nessie’s stall door, Flora thought up a plan to get Mother back. She would ask Nessie to come over and break down the fence. Luna could take her the message.

  As Flora gave this plan some more thought, she sorted through the leftovers in the slop trough and found four corncobs with the good stuff all chewed off. “Gather around, everyone!” she called. “I’ve got a new game called Feelin’ Kicky.”

  She and her brothers were going to get strong. Then if Nessie wasn’t willing or able, maybe they could break down the fence themselves.

  “Here’s what you do,” Flora announced. “Toss the cob as high as you can, like this.” She took the corncob in her mouth and jerked it into the air. “Then you run to the fence, turn and kick it really hard, run back, and try to stomp the cob before it stops rolling.”

  She glanced at Alfred. For the first time since Mother had been taken away, he looked a little happy.

  “I’ll go first.” She tossed the corncob and dashed over to the fence. She spun around and reared up on her front legs as her back hooves flashed out behind her. Tap, tap! They clicked against the fence. She was hoping for a louder, thumpier sound, but she tore back to the cob that was still rolling and jumped on it with her front hooves.

  “There, like that!” Flora spun again and then looked around at her brothers while she caught her breath.

  “Wow,” Alfred said.

  They all lined up behind the corncobs to take a turn. Her brothers cheered one another, especially when the moment came to bang their little hooves into the fence. They played Feelin’ Kicky the rest of the afternoon.

  The next morning, Flora got up before everyone else. She walked to the fence, stood for a moment, then spun quickly, and kicked. It might have been her imagination, but it felt as if the boards trembled a little.

  She wished she could show Luna. She ran up the manure pile to see if her friend was anywhere around. Instead, she saw a big truck backing down the gravel road. It came to a stop in a cloud of dust just on the other side of the junk heap, and the wind brought the smell of its exhaust.

  One by one, her brothers woke and wandered over, peeking with their sleepy eyes between boards.

  It wasn’t until the engine suddenly quieted that Flora heard the dogs. It sounded like hundreds of them, barking and whining from inside the back of the truck, which was covered by a stained, greasy canvas. Two strangers and the man with the dark beard came around the corner of the truck and strode purposefully toward the pigpen.

  What was this? Flora could hardly breathe.

  “Don’t let them catch you!” Mother called from her pen. “Stick together and dash from corner to corner.”

  Flora looked at Alfred. Alfred hurried over and glued himself to Flora’s side. She nuzzled him for encouragement. “Get ready,” she whispered.

  Two of the men stepped over the fence and into the pen. They lunged and grabbed as Flora and her brothers ran to the farthest corner and jammed themselves into a tight bunch. As soon as the men came close, they ran again, grunting and squealing, to the next corner.

  “That’s it!” cried Mother. She was standing and looking over the top of the gate. She sounded frantic. “Stay together, children!”

  Was that why they moved her out of the pen, Flora wondered, so she couldn’t protect her children? The gate between the two pens shuddered. It was Mother throwing herself against the boards.

  “Don’t let them put their hands on you!” she shouted. “Don’t let them pick you up!”

  The third man lunged at Flora. She jumped sideways to dodge his hands. Even though she was the smallest pig now, she was faster than her brothers. Her strong back legs powered her forward through the gap between his legs.

  She glanced around. The man with the beard fell on Alfred.

  “No!” Flora shouted. She dashed over, aimed for the man’s head, spun, and kicked backwards.

  “Ow. Hey, it’s you again,” he said.

  She could tell she missed his head, but the man let Alfred go.

  The three men dusted themselves off. Flora’s mother was still shouting encouragement, but Flora’s attention suddenly slipped.

  The dogs in the truck had kept up their barking. Were they the same dogs from her day in the cornfield? They sounded similarly excited but happy, too, as though they were finally off on the adventure they had been training for.

  Adventure.

  Did she dare?

  This time when the men slowly advanced with their hands out in front, Flora only pretended to scramble. She darted one way and then turned ba
ck. Her brothers, including Alfred, all made a break for the other side of the pen. But Flora stood her ground.

  “Flora, run!” cried her mother.

  “Get that one!” the man with the beard shouted. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

  The men closed in from three sides, and Flora stamped her front feet. She kicked one of her back legs. But she did not run. And when they fell on her and picked her up, she did not struggle.

  “Flora!” Alfred squealed.

  “Goodbye!” she shouted. “Don’t worry about me. Alfred, work hard at your kicking.”

  The men hoisted Flora out of the pen. The truck growled. Dark smoke leaped from a rattling pipe. Flora shivered.

  “You’ve got yourself a good one there,” she heard the man with the beard say. The rest of his words were drowned out as a flap in the dark canvas was flipped up and Flora was shoved into a wood and wire crate.

  Chapter 10

  Flora felt a quick arrow of sadness stab her. This was no run in the cornfield.

  Mother! Alfred! Would she ever see her family again? If she had a howl in her, this would be the time to let it out.

  All she could do was squeal.

  The air inside the truck was warm. It was filled with the smell of dog and gasoline, and the sound of barking was now deafening. The truck growled deeply and moved with a lurch. Flora was thrown against the metal grid of her cage. Judging from the yelps around her, so were her traveling companions.

  The barking stopped. Flora picked herself up as the truck crunched along the gravel road. It vibrated and shook and went over heavy bumps now and then, which made it hard for Flora to keep her footing. She kept knocking her head. Then, after a bone-cracking heave that lifted every cage into the air and slammed them back down, the ride smoothed out.

  Flora was definitely scared, but she had picked her moment, and she had shown spirit and courage. Luna would be so proud.

  Luna! Flora didn’t even get to say goodbye.

  Flora looked around her cage. A dirty, crumpled blanket lay on the floor, and two metal pans were upturned. There might have been water in one of them until the big heave. Now there was just a wet spot on a corner of the blanket. Beside the other bowl were two carrots and half an apple.