The Unlikely Story of a Pig in the City

by Jodi Kendall

  “In the broth, honey,” she said with a tight smile. “For flavor.”

  “But Mom . . .” My voice broke. “My bet with Lucy . . .”

  I tried hard not to cry. I couldn’t make a scene right now, not in front of Dad’s boss. But I couldn’t believe what just happened, either.

  I’d eaten beef.

  Accident or not, it happened, and I couldn’t take it back.

  I felt a whoosh inside my chest, like how my insides flutter when I’m soaring on the uneven bars and the world blurs around me. But sitting here at the dinner table, I didn’t feel that sense of power I felt on the bars. Right now I felt like the world was out of control.

  “Oh, Josie, you know how I feel about betting,” said Mom, her eyebrows pinching together.

  “Don’t be so upset, Josie,” said Ellen, sweeping away the issue. “It’s just a silly bet.”

  “You don’t understand—” My voice cracked again. Sarah looked at me, her eyes wide as if she knew what I was thinking. But she couldn’t know—no one at the table did.

  I needed that money for my gymnastics registration.

  I was already doing the math in my head. Two hundred dollars minus my allowance savings of $76.02 left $123.98. A lump formed in my throat. Grandma usually slipped twenty dollars in my Christmas card every year, so that left about a hundred dollars my parents would have to cover.

  My chin began to tremble. I needed that extra forty dollars. I needed it!

  Ms. Coburn continued talking as if the beef thing never happened, so I sat through the rest of the dinner silent and without an appetite. I wasn’t paying attention at all until I heard Dad say, “What?” in a surprised voice. “In my eight years with the company, there’s always been a holiday bonus.”

  “Not this year, Stephen, and for good reason. Our customer service center is being outsourced because the team can’t keep up with the demand.”

  “Apple pie, anyone?” Mom asked, trying to ease the tension in the room. She passed around small plates.

  “Me!” cried Amelia.

  “Ahh, carbs,” said Ms. Coburn, fluttering her fingers a few inches from her mouth. “I’ll have to pass, but thank you, Emily.”

  Dad wasn’t ready to give up. “This sends a bad message to the employees.”

  “I’m sorry, Stephen, but there’s nothing I can do. Upper management met the other day, and—” Suddenly Ms. Coburn screamed and jumped to her feet. “That—that—THING!”

  “What thing?” Dad sounded confused. “Josie are you feeding Sugar under the table again?”

  I shook my head. Ms. Coburn knocked her chair over. A familiar pink snout appeared from beneath the table. How did she get out of her Cave? Hamlet stood up on her hind legs, her front hooves clunking against the dining room table, flipping the apple pie over onto Ms. Coburn’s green sweater.

  Oh no!

  Hamlet didn’t mean to attack her, but it sure looked like she did, that’s how badly she wanted apple pie. Sugar barked loudly, and Ms. Coburn tried to swat Hamlet away with her napkin, but Hamlet was a real bully and practically knocked her down on the floor.

  “Hamlet’s friendly!” I shouted, scrambling to get closer. But in the chaos of the room, I couldn’t push past the others. I saw Ms. Coburn raise her leg before it happened. My heartbeat skyrocketed. “Don’t! PLEASE!”

  Ms. Coburn kicked Hamlet hard, right in the belly, with the toe of her high-heeled boot. And not just once—twice. “STOP!” I yelled. Hamlet squealed, and she slowly backed away from her.

  “DON’T!” Dad lunged for Hamlet’s throat and gently tugged her by the collar, pulling her away from the apple pie mess across Ms. Coburn, her chair, and the floor. Hamlet’s snout was covered in pie crust and apple filling, but she calmly stayed right by Dad’s side, as if all she had wanted was a little taste and she’d finally come to her senses.

  A terrible silence filled the dining room. Ms. Coburn’s mouth was open, but no words came out. Dad was out of breath as he gasped out, “No creature, great or small, animal or human, will ever be kicked under this roof. I think it would be best if we ended the night early.” Ms. Coburn’s jaw dropped. “I’ll get your coat.”

  Mom handed Ms. Coburn a napkin. She brushed apple pie filling off her sweater. I watched as globs of it were flung onto the floor. “Never in my life have I been treated in such an inhospitable fashion,” she said, her cheeks turning bright red. “I could sue you over—”

  “It’s quite obvious that the pig caused no harm besides soiling your sweater,” Mom broke in. “We’ll pay for the dry cleaning, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dad agreed. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed Ms. Coburn two twenty-dollar bills. “That should more than cover it. Now. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  No one dared speak as Ms. Coburn was escorted from the house. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around Hamlet’s thick neck.

  “You okay?” I whispered into the pig’s twitching ears. She slobbered my cheek, which was her way of saying that she was just fine. I turned to Mom. “I’m sorry about your pie. I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “Let’s do it together,” Mom whispered back. She handed us girls some napkins. The front door slammed shut, and Dad reappeared in the doorway. “Stephen?” Mom said. It was a question without even asking one.

  Dad ran a hand through his hair. His wedding band caught the light—no. It was the Christmas tree in the living room. Dad had turned Doug’s lights back on.

  “Dinner was wonderful, Emily,” Dad said to my mom. He sounded defeated, but he rubbed her shoulder.

  “And your crab cakes were just the right temperature,” Mom said back, raising a hand and placing it over his.

  “C’mon, girls. Let Mom and Dad talk.” Ellen retreated to the living room, a book tucked under her arm, and motioned us to follow.

  “Can we turn the heat down now?” asked Amelia, wiping her forehead. “I’m sweating!”

  “Yeah, we can tell,” said Sarah.

  I took a deep breath and turned to Dad. “Are you going to get fired?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Josie.” Dad gave me a halfhearted smile. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  His words were something like a switch inside of me, turning off the tears and making me feel stronger. I got to my feet and gave Dad a hug. Even though he’s not Hamlet’s biggest fan, Dad tried to protect her tonight.

  “Thank you,” I told him. Dad squeezed me back. He seemed to know what I was thankful for without me even saying it. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. We all stared at him, confused.

  “What’s so funny?” Sarah asked.

  “Her face! When Hamlet flipped the pie . . .” Dad was laughing so hard he could barely catch a breath. Mom started chuckling, too. “I’ve never seen her so disgusted in my entire time with the company. That was great. Just great. Good ol’ Hamlet.”

  Amelia giggled. I grinned, watching as Dad patted Hamlet on the head. He didn’t even pull out the hand sanitizer afterward. Mom watched him for a moment, and then clapped her hands.

  “Okay, everyone! Get your coats on. Let’s drive around and look at all the holiday lights.”

  “Really?” I felt my spirits lift. Dad didn’t even complain about losing a good parking spot.

  “Hooray!” shouted Amelia, flying towards the hall closet.

  “I call front seat!” said Sarah, snatching her wool hat off the coat rack and tugging it down on her head.

  “What about the dishes?” yelled Ellen from the kitchen.

  “We’ll deal with them later,” said Dad. “But Josie, let’s put Hamlet away, just in case.” He winked at me, and I reached for her collar, gently tugging her back to her Cave.

  Could it be possible?

  Maybe Sully was right. Maybe the Three-Week Rule was real . . . and maybe it meant Hamlet was already a part of the Shilling family, and just not everyone had realized it yet.

  If I could just
stall Dr. Stern and her friends another week or two, then time would tell if Hamlet was staying, or if Hamlet was still going.

  Soon I would find out.

  Chapter 11

  HAMLET’S ESCAPE

  Nothing could bother me today.

  Not Amelia stealing my favorite T-shirt out of my dresser, or Sarah’s remarks about Hamlet stinking up the hallway, or how Ellen ignored me during breakfast, even when I asked her to pass the cereal three times. Because today at school, Sully had a few more good reasons to add to the Case for Keeping Hamlet. Then at practice, I didn’t fall off the balance beam once, we got to play in the cheese pit, and I came in second in the handstand contest, which never ever happens!

  There were just ten days to go before my big meet. All I needed to do was keep my focus—and not grow any taller. Too bad I could only control one of those things.

  But today? Today I felt like I was walking on clouds, my heart was so light.

  Unfortunately I wasn’t actually walking on clouds—I was cleaning Hamlet’s Cave while Amelia and Lou played with Hamlet outside. I gathered up the old ratty towel on the floor to throw in the wash and gave her bag of dried pellet food a shake. It was nearly empty.

  No!

  How could she be out of food already? Ugh. It was my responsibility to pay for her food—and a bag cost twenty dollars. Another purchase was going to make a big dent in my savings, and I needed every penny of my allowance money to go toward my registration fee.

  I’d figure that out later. Right now, I needed to finish taking care of Hamlet so I could practice holding splits—three minutes on each side—and do my Language Arts homework. Coach also gave us a lecture about getting to bed at a decent time, which is sometimes hard to do when you share a room with three sisters, but I was determined to make it happen. My body needed the rest now more than ever.

  As I crawled out of Hamlet’s Cave, I tripped over my little sister’s backpack and stubbed my toe. “OW! Amelia!” I yelled. She didn’t answer, so I craned my neck down the hall. The back door was wide open. “MILLIE!”

  Ugh! No one in this family ever answers me when I need them.

  I stomped to the back door. Amelia and Lou were running around outside in our little yard, and Amelia was trying to get Hamlet to catch a Frisbee in the air.

  “Millie!” I scolded. “Why is my pig wearing your old tutu?”

  “She’s not your pig,” said Amelia as she hopped around. “Besides! She likes it, see?” I couldn’t tell whether Hamlet liked it or not, but she looked absolutely ridiculous with frilly fabric fluttering around her waist. “C’mon, Ham, just like this!” Amelia continued, flicking her wrist and releasing the Frisbee. Then she sprinted across the snow and caught it. “Ta-da! Easy.”

  I held back a grin. Amelia is fast like our brother, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I was too mad about her leaving her stuff around.

  “You’re throwing it too hard,” said Lou, shaking his head. He retrieved the Frisbee and gave it a gentle toss across the yard.

  Hamlet just stood there, snout lifted, sniffing the air. “She’s not a dog,” I told them. “Or a doll to dress up. Okay, piglet playtime is over. I need to get her inside.”

  But Hamlet had other plans. She dug her hooves into the snow like she was looking for something but couldn’t tunnel quite deep enough. I walked over and tried to pick her up, but she wasn’t having it. She squealed at the top of her lungs, making my heartbeat thump wildly. Hamlet was too independent for her own good!

  “Shhh!!!” I scolded her. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”

  I looked toward Mrs. Taglioni’s yard and pressed my tongue against my cheek. Even though I couldn’t see through the fence we shared, I knew exactly what was over there, because I’d seen her backyard from my bedroom window for as long as I could remember, and it always looked the same.

  Small patch of grass, always cut short in the summer and shoveled clean of snow in the winter.

  White iron patio set with a striped canopy, like a photo in a magazine.

  “C’mon, Hamlet. It’s time for your bath,” I said, exhaling my frustration. I didn’t have time for this!

  I picked her up, gripping her legs as hard as I could. Her hooves kicked at my arms, and she squealed. “Hammie—shhh!” I scolded her. She tried to jump out of my arms as I walked up the patio steps, and the tutu wriggled right off her back.

  “Hey! You’re getting my tutu dirty!”

  “It shouldn’t have been on her in the first place.”

  I tried to open the door, but Hamlet still had other plans. She oinked and grunted and twisted until finally she was so loud and squirmy and her hooves were digging grooves into my sweater that I had no choice but to set her down.

  Great. Now I’d have to chase her inside the house, and it was freezing out. I stuck my hands in my pockets, trying to warm them up.

  “She doesn’t want to go inside yet,” said Lou.

  “Obviously.” I narrowed my eyes at him and moved toward the pig again. She bolted out of my grasp each time I approached her. She was quick! “Anyway. It’s getting dark out. Hamlet needs a bath and dinner, and I have homework to do and routines to practice. Millie, I told you that Hamlet has to be on a leash . . . Now look at her!”

  “Pigs shouldn’t wear leashes,” Amelia said. “Right, Lou?”

  “Well.” He wrinkled his face as if he wanted to ask his mom about it before having an opinion on the matter.

  “Not right, Millie.” I put my hands on my hips. “Maybe farm pigs don’t wear leashes, but city pigs do, okay? It’s for safety. I’m sure Lou’s mom would agree with me on that! Now. Help me get Hamlet inside.”

  But every time we stepped closer to Hamlet, she moved further away from us. Hmm. This tactic wasn’t working. “We need snacks,” I told the kids. “Millie, Lou, go grab crackers so we can lead her in, okay?”

  Amelia and Lou raced up the back steps and into the house. A brisk wind swept across the yard, sending a shiver across my bare arms. I should’ve told them to grab my coat, too. The last thing I needed was to get sick so close to my meet.

  “C’mon, Hamlet,” I tried again, frustration brewing inside of me. I took another step toward her, nearly grabbing her hind legs. But she galloped right past me and squeezed underneath our snow-covered picnic table.

  “HAMLET! Ugh!”

  But I wasn’t giving up on her. Not with the snowstorm rolling in tonight and Hamlet’s warm bath waiting for her inside. She was only a piglet and I knew what was best for her, even if she didn’t want to listen to me.

  “Now. Let’s go!”

  I stretched out my arms.

  She scooted out of the way.

  I lunged. “Aha, I’ve got ya!” I cried, grabbing her torso. But her back was covered with snow, and just like that, Hamlet slipped from my grasp. She jumped up on the picnic table and broke through the fence, leaping right into Mrs. Taglioni’s yard!

  It took everything in my body not to scream.

  “Um, what just happened?” said a small voice behind me.

  I stared in disbelief at the broken fence. I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t answer Amelia now. I had to go where I’d never been before—Mrs. Taglioni’s yard—and get that pig back like my life depended on it.

  The kids were on my heels. I yelled for them to stay back. They’d only make things worse.

  “Don’t!” cried Amelia. “You can’t!”

  I didn’t have a choice. I hopped up on the picnic table and scaled the fence into Mrs. Taglioni’s yard just like Hamlet had done moments before. I landed on a soft bed of snow, and my heart sunk. There was debris all around me: plants wrapped in plastic bags to keep the frost away were toppled over, their ceramic pots shattered. Hamlet had been here—and had made a huge mess.

  I spotted muddy hoofprints in the snow and followed them until I laid eyes on my piglet. She turned her head, ears twitching. We locked eyes.

  “Hamlet,” I begged. “Please ju
st stay there!”

  Hamlet was a flash of pink—a little lightning bolt zipping across the yard, looking for a way out. I pumped my arms and chased her up and down the fence line, pleading for her not to break through another wooden plank.

  I’d give her belly rubs, if she just listened to me.

  Make corn on the cob—her favorite!

  Take her on an extra-long walk tomorrow, even though I didn’t have time.

  Please, please, please.

  But Hamlet didn’t listen. She galloped right up the back steps of Mrs. Taglioni’s house and then disappeared from sight.

  Ugh! Where did she go?

  I tiptoed up the steps. Maybe Mrs. Taglioni wasn’t home. Maybe I could still get out of here alive.

  “Hamlet!” I whispered, searching for her. “Hammieeee!”

  But then my eyes fell on it: the small, plastic doggie flap at the base of Mrs. Taglioni’s back door. I’d forgotten about how she had it custom-made for her cats last summer, so they could be outdoor and indoor cats, and that she’d told us to not leave food in the backyard, because she didn’t trust that Sugar would leave them alone if they jumped the fence.

  Like Sugar even cared about her cats.

  I knelt to the ground. Maybe the little door was locked, so cold air and snow didn’t come inside. I gave it a gentle push. The door was cold to the touch, but it flapped frontward and backward.

  A terrifying scream reached my ears, followed by a high-pitched piglet squeal that I’d recognize anywhere.

  Hamlet!

  I had no choice.

  I knocked on the door.

  Mrs. Taglioni’s door flew open and slammed closed behind her. She stared at me, wild-eyed.

  “There’s. A. Pig. In. My. House!” she cried, placing a palm over her heart.

  I couldn’t even imagine how much trouble I’d be in after my parents heard about this. I’d be lucky if I ever did a cartwheel again.

  “About that . . .” I crossed my arms, trying to keep away the cold, and pretended that I had Tom’s confidence. Maybe I could calm Mrs. Taglioni down. There was a chance, even if it was a small one. “So . . . um. Remember that puppy we’re pet sitting? Yeah. Not a puppy. But she’s friendly, I promise!”