by Natale Ghent
“Friends?” the ferret raged. “I don’t make friends with skinny pigs—I eat them!” He licked his whiskery lips.
The flames sprang to some bags of cedar shavings.
“Somebody save me!” the White Collar yelled.
“S-s-save us, Millhouse!” the gerbils cried.
“Get out of my way,” Milly commanded the ferret, his voice cracking with fear. “Can’t you see that you’re in danger? We’re all in danger! The fire will kill us all!”
The Pepper Brown threw back his head and howled, his teeth flashing. “It’s curtains for you this time, Millhouse—no encores.” He flicked the burning cigarette over his shoulder.
And then he lunged at the poor little pig.
13
A Final Bow
Fear is a strange and powerful thing. It grips the mind with terrible claws and tears at good sense and reason. It clutches the throat and squeezes an eternity into the tiny gap normally occupied by a second. Any ordinary pig would have been paralyzed with fright. Any ordinary pig would have fainted and succumbed to the cruelty of the Pepper Brown ferret in this small and unremarkable pet shop.
But Milly was no ordinary pig. Milly was an extraordinary pig with an extraordinary heart—a heart that truly cared about the things worth preserving in life, from the humblest firefly to the glory of the theater and everything in between, including all the other animals in the shop. And Milly was willing to risk his own life to save them.
As the ruthless ferret sprang through the smoke-filled air, the terrified guinea turned and dove into the searing mouth of the fire. The other animals gasped in unified horror. Millhouse was gone!
Milly burst into the back room, tumbling to the floor, his beard blackened with soot, his chamois singed across the shoulders. He shook his head and looked around the room with surprise. He was alive! He’d made it through the flames! And he hadn’t fainted!
“My chamois must have protected me from the fire!” he said, gathering the cloth in his paws and kissing it. “But what of the Pepper Brown?”
The fire roared in reply. Milly shook himself and began searching for the precious water valve. His scorched eyes ran as he felt his way along the floor, his paws fumbling over a paper clip, a stone, a candy wrapper. He could not see the valve. He could not see a thing through the thick black smoke. His heart pounded in his chest. He could hear the other animals crying out his name. He was certain the Pepper Brown would appear through the flames any second. He had to find the water valve!
“A pox upon this smoke!” the pig cursed.
Another explosion of glass sent a crescendo of screams into the air. Milly choked against the heat. “I don’t have time to search like this!” He held his head in his paws. “The valve is in the corner of the room. I will have to take a chance.”
The guinea groped blindly to the base of the counter. He climbed to the top, just as he had climbed up the pet food boxes on so many lonely nights in the shop. Unable to see through the smoke, he slid one paw against the edge of the counter so as not to get lost. The counter was hot and beginning to blister. Milly’s feet prickled from the heat. The smell of glue and burning vinyl filled his nostrils.
Suddenly, Milly’s head clunked against something hard. He’d reached the back wall! He blinked his scorched eyes, trying to find the valve, but he could not see it. “I will have to take a leap,” he said at last. “A leap of faith.”
With the flames dancing across the doorway, Milly clutched his chest and bowed his head. “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done,” he whispered. And then he jumped from the edge of the counter into the void.
Milly fell through the air, his paws and feet outstretched like a starfish.
“I have missed my mark!” he cried.
But then he hit the valve with a painful thud.
Hanging from the hot metal handle, the pig gritted his teeth and swung his hairless body with all his might, trying to open the valve. But it was stubborn. It would not budge.
“Confound it!” the pig boomed. “You will yield!”
Milly swung his body over and over—until the valve miraculously gave way with a familiar and delicious squeak. The pig continued to swing and kick until the valve was wide open. Racing the water to the nozzle, Milly slid down the hose and grabbed it just in time.
The hose bucked and twisted, water spraying wildly through the room. The pig rode it like a broncobuster, clinging to the nozzle for dear life.
He could hear the horrified cries of the other animals. He could hear glass shattering and wood popping as the hose reared up, nearly hitting the ceiling before whipping and snapping to the floor. He hung on with all his guinea pig might, the hose hissing and flailing from side to side, the pig hollering and kicking until he could hold on no more. Losing his grip, Milly flew through the air and tumbled to the floor.
Blinded by smoke and tears, Milly lay on his back, the voices of the other animals filling the air. “Oh, terrible world!” the pig cried. “They are done! I have failed. Forgive me, I have failed.” His body shook with sobs as the animals called his name, their cries growing louder and louder.
“Millhouse! Millhouse! Millhouse!”
Milly covered his ears. But the animals weren’t crying in fear. They were cheering with joy!
“Hooray for Milly!” the white mice squealed.
“Hooray for M-M-Milly!” the gerbils stuttered.
Even the guineas were laughing and cheering, joining in the victory rally.
“You’re my saaa-vior,” the Honey Cream called out from her cage.
“Yee-haw!” the Abby hollered. “Nice shootin’, Tex!”
Milly removed his paws from his ears. “Can this be true?” he said.
A thin plume of smoke curled into the air where the fire had been. The walls of the back room were blackened from the hungry flames. The hose was corralled in the doorway, gushing water in a steady stream across the floor and into the drain.
“You did it, Milly! You did it!” the animals shouted.
Milly rose to his feet and looked around. “It’s a miracle,” he said, clapping his pink paws together. “It’s an absolute miracle!”
At that very moment, the wicked Pepper Brown dove out from behind the back room door.
“Take your final bow, pig!” the ferret cackled, closing his teeth around Milly’s throat.
“Merciful Bard!” the guinea shrieked. “I am finished!”
Just then, a hail of popcorn kernels and sticky gumdrops blazed across the shop, battering the ferret to the floor.
“Charge!” Sergeant Squeak commanded, and an army of mice swarmed the Pepper Brown. They attacked the ferret, driving him back into his cage and slamming the door shut behind him.
“Addition!” Abacus announced.
Milly blinked with astonishment at the mice. “But I thought you’d migrated!” he said.
“We received intelligence that the enemy was moving in this direction, and we traced his coordinates here,” Sergeant Squeak explained. “Are you wounded?” he asked the pig. “I can have my medical officer examine you.”
Milly rubbed his throat. The Pepper Brown hadn’t managed to harm him after all. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I seem to be fine.”
The sergeant secured the Pepper Brown’s cage with wire and stationed two sentries on either side as an extra precaution. “That ferret won’t bother you anymore,” he said. “We’ve posted mice on twenty-four-hour duty.” He looked at the charred walls of the shop and at the hose pouring water over the floor. “Good work, pig!” he said, and he gave the guinea a sharp salute.
Millhouse blushed with pride. All the animals in the pet shop cheered loudly, including the troops of wild mice.
“B-b-but wait!” one of the gerbils suddenly said, interrupting the celebration. “What a-b-b-bout Elliot?” He pointed to a blackened cage across the room. The rat lay inside, unmoving, eyes pinched shut.
“Oh, no!” Milly stumbled over t
o where the poor rat lay. “He has asthma—he must have succumbed to the fumes. Elliot, wake up!”
The rat did not respond. Milly began pounding on his cage.
“Elliot! Wake up! You must wake up!”
The rat lay motionless. Milly pounded harder, growing frantic.
“Wake up, Elliot! Please wake up!” He grabbed a discarded scrap of cardboard from between two cages and began furiously fanning the rat.
Then all the other animals started shouting, “Wake up, Elliot! Wake up!”
Milly fanned and fanned, tears filling his eyes as hope drained from his heart, until finally he dropped the cardboard and covered his face with his paws. “Oh, my friend! My poor, poor friend. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t die …”
The other animals grew silent in the face of such profound sadness. Milly turned from the rat’s cage, unable to bear the weight of his loss. He wanted to hide beneath the safety of his cedar shavings and stay there for the rest of his life.
“W-w-wait!” one of the gerbils stammered. “I-I-I think he m-m-moved!”
Milly spun around and gripped the bars of Elliot’s cage. All the animals in the shop held their breath, eyes trained on the rat. They stared at Elliot for the longest time, but he did not move. Milly was just about to give up again when one of the rat’s whiskers twitched. And then another. And then Milly’s heart leapt as the rat’s whole body jerked, and he wheezed to life like an old engine, coughing and sputtering violently.
“Elliot!” the pig shouted with relief.
The rat gasped and heaved, his eyes bulging. He gestured frantically at his throat.
“Drink some water,” Milly instructed, pointing at the thimble.
The rat lunged for the thimble, sloshing water across his cage. He threw the water in his mouth, then spit it back out like a rusty sprinkler beginning its rounds in the spring. He held one finger in the air as he coughed, then shook himself all over and began dabbing at his eyes with the white cloth.
“What’s all the fuss?” he asked at last, blinking innocently along the length of his nose.
“Don’t you remember?” Milly asked. “There was a fire. You must have succumbed to the smoke. And I thought you were—” The pig’s voice cracked with emotion. “But then I fanned and fanned to wake you.” He picked up the cardboard and began waving it. “And now here you are!”
“Hey,” the rat said, pointing at the cardboard, “what’s it say on that sign?”
The pig looked at the piece of cardboard. It was the White Collar’s box top. Milly peered at the label. “Brix Pharmaceutical Lab,” he read aloud. “Why, the well-bred guinea is a science experiment!”
A loud gasp rose from all the animals in the shop.
“It’s. Not. True!” the White Collar shouted.
The rat peered at the box top. “Says so on the label,” Elliot confirmed. “I read it with my own beads.”
To everyone’s horror, the White Collar started wailing like a baby guinea and rushed to the back of his cage.
“Dreadful!” the Honey Cream sniffed, fully recovered from her embarrassment at having fainted twice.
“Sh-sh-shocking,” the gerbils agreed.
“The cat’s outta the bag!” the Abby snorted.
“Cat?” Elliot gulped, whipping his head from side to side. “What cat?”
“Ah, well,” Milly said, tossing the cardboard into the recycling bin. “We can’t all be well-bred.”
“All’s well that ends well,” the rat said. He raised his thimble in the air. “To Millhouse!” he cheered.
The pig blushed all over. He hardly knew how to respond. But he did know that whatever lingering pain he’d been carrying from the disappointment and frustration of life in the pet shop was finally lifted by the genuine joy of having done something that mattered.
He pressed his small pink paw to his chest.
The stones in his heart were gone.
“To Millhouse!” the other animals joined in. “Hip, hip, hooray!” they shouted, and everyone began to celebrate.
The firefly fluttered and danced around Milly. The goldfish swam in dizzying circles around and around their aquarium. The chameleons scrambled up and down their branch. The white mice scurried and wrestled. The gerbils raced in their wheel. And the other guineas laughed and sang songs in honor of such a courageous pig. Everyone was happy and celebrating. Everyone except the White Collar, who was still hiding at the back of his cage in shame, and the Pepper Brown, who was angrily licking his fire-scorched fur.
14
Magnificent
Millhouse was an overnight success. For weeks after the big fire, the animals could do nothing but chatter about his daring and bravery. The other guineas, who’d always been the most cruel, were especially kind now, gushing and glowing about their Milly. Suddenly, they wanted to see his plays and hear his songs and poems. Suddenly, they were all so very interested in knowing more about the theater.
Now, an ordinary pig may have held this against them. But not Millhouse. He forgave them because he knew that pigs—that all animals—sometimes behave in ways they themselves don’t understand. The other guineas seemed truly sorry for how they’d acted. And Milly believed that anyone who was truly sorry deserved a second chance.
Everyone had a story to tell, including the White Collar, who had the nerve to claim he wasn’t in the least bit afraid of the fire. He was quickly shouted down by the Abyssinian, who insisted that the “well-bred” guinea had cried like a baby during the whole affair. There were theories advanced and opinions offered about what could and should have been done, but everyone agreed that Milly had acted very bravely.
Even greater intrigue whirled around the fate of the Weekend Boy, who was called into the shop to account for his misdeeds. Neither the Weekend Boy nor the Weekday Man could figure out how the hose had turned on, or who had put out the flames. But the Weekend Boy apologetically confessed that he was the one who’d allowed the freckle-faced boy to smoke in the shop. To make matters worse, he had to shoulder the blame for the mysterious reappearance of the Pepper Brown, who was so broken and scarred they put an extra lock on his cage and deemed him unsellable. It seemed as though the Weekend Boy would be fired until he burst into tears and received a last-minute pardon. All the animals believed this was fair—given the Weekend Boy’s apology—except for the Abyssinian, who demanded justice on a punitive scale, which is to say that he wanted to see the Weekend Boy drawn, quartered and hanged.
Before the painters and the carpenters came to mend the damage, the Weekday Man held a fire sale, and many of the mice and gerbils went to new homes. Abacus calculated furiously until he himself was sold. There were tearful good-byes and heartfelt declarations of affection with each departure, and although the shop soon settled down to its regular routine, the animals who stayed behind would never feel the same. There was an air of expectation in the pet shop that had never existed there before.
And Milly himself had changed. Not in a physical way. Not in a way that anyone could quite determine. But he had changed. There was a glow about him, an aura of peace and tranquility. It was as though the pig had transformed from the inside out. All the animals noticed this difference, and all the animals agreed that Millhouse looked magnificent.
“Look ahhht his eyes,” the Honey Cream drawled. “They’re the vaarr-ee pic-ture of in-tell-igence.”
“And his mouth,” the Abyssinian added. “So strong, yet sensitive.”
“He is a brilliant thespian,” the White Collar said.
Elliot sniffed, a bit put out by the other animals’ sudden change of heart. “I saw it with my own beads all along,” he whistled, blinking fondly at Milly. “I knew he was special from the start.”
Millhouse beamed from behind the bars of his cage. He was just about to honor the animals with one of his favorite poems when the bells on the shop door jingled. It was the round-faced woman with the beret!
She entered the shop, the Peruvian in hand.
; “We want an exchange,” she snipped, the way people do when they want to blame someone else for their own decisions. “This guinea is nothing but a pain in the neck.” She held up the poor guinea’s cage for all to see. The Peruvian was a tangle of knots!
“I told you!” the Abby shouted at the Peruvian, who was whimpering and shaking like a leaf.
“How ahhhhb-so-luutelee awful!” the Honey Cream cried.
“She won’t sit still for a minute,” the woman complained. “She’s just not theater material. She tangles her hair the minute it’s brushed! Months and months of brushing and untangling. This animal isn’t fit to be a pet, let alone take to the stage.”
“Oh, the shame!” Milly groaned. “The poor Peruvian! Returned like dime-store junk!”
“And she hasn’t an ounce of common sense,” the woman ruthlessly continued. “She squeals when she’s picked up and she squeals when she’s put down. She squeals when her dish is full and she squeals when it’s empty. She even squeals when there’s no one around. She just squeals and squeals and squeals!”
The Weekday Man nodded, taking the unfortunate guinea from the woman. He suggested several replacement pets—all of which the woman refused. It seemed that the situation would never be resolved when at last a little girl stepped out from behind the woman into plain view. She gazed at the Peruvian, her big blue eyes brimming with sadness, like those orphaned children in velvet paintings one sometimes sees in parking lots or shopping malls.
“I would like to make my own decision, Auntie,” the girl said in a lovely soft voice.
“The thespian is a little girl!” Milly exclaimed.
The woman stepped aside, allowing the little girl free rein in the shop. The girl peered at the chameleons and smiled at the fish. She admired the mice and laughed at the gerbils spinning around and around in their wheel. She looked at the White Collar and stroked the Honey Cream. She considered the Abby and inquired about the rat. She even inspected the disgraced Pepper Brown. She studied and measured and appraised every animal in the shop with such care and interest it seemed she would never decide.
