On a poor man’s pig farm, in a cozy pen, there lived a large sow and her thirteen piglets. There was nothing spectacular or magical about their existence – no benevolent spider to tell their tale, or ravenous wolf howling at their door threatening to steal them in the night. They were pigs like any other – dirty, smelly, squealing, snorting pigs.

When they were hungry, they suckled; when they were cold, they nuzzled up together. When they were tired, they happily slept on beds of straw which were lovingly changed by the farmer daily. In the warmer days, when they were let outside, they ran, and skipped, then rolled about in puddles of their own cakey manure and would lie in the baking sun for hours on end. Then in the colder days, the barn was sealed from drafts, an extra helping of straw was added to their bedding, the sow’s feeding trough was always replenished, and even a pot-bellied stove in the corner was lit when the frost came.

Their home was almost completely unheard of, even to those who may have lived nearby. The farmer himself had never been married, never had children, and any other kin he may have had were dead and gone. Still, he loved his tiny patch of land where only himself, the boggy fields, the open grey skies and the crows circling overhead could witness a single sign of life on the farm.

Then came one cold, dull day in late November, when the piglets noticed that the farmer had not come by their pen. Most of them assumed that the farmer might have overslept, so saw no cause for alarm.

But then the morning was moving into noon,

then afternoon,

and finally, the sun began setting, and the piglets became very nervous.

They surveyed the darkening barn for jobs which had not been completed. The walls and corners had not been sealed, letting in a horrible frosty draft. Their straw bedding was thin and soiled from the night before, and the sow’s trough was now completely empty. As for the pot-bellied stove in the corner, its ashtray had not been emptied in over a week.

“It’s only been a day”, said one well-meaning female piglet, “and besides, there’s still enough food for all of us . . . and we can still huddle in together when it gets colder!” At this however, some of the bigger piglets rolled their eyes. Others even snapped at her, saying things like “Don’t be stupid!”, “Why, have you been hoarding supplies, little one?”, and “I heard it’s the smallest who usually die first”.

Amid all of this squawking the sow was still fast asleep, oblivious to her children’s growing panic. The oldest piglet (though only by minutes) had been decidedly quiet while his brothers and sisters argued. He too was gravely skeptical of their situation and speaking to them said,

“There’s no good to be got from debating the issue. The food won’t last forever. The night is coming, cold and quick. The sow’s supply of milk will eventually run dry, and if we should live through the night, or the next, or even the night after that, there will come a time when the sow realises that she’s hungry. And as soon as she does, she’ll eat us . . . all of us.”

The pen was silent.

Then a soft whimpering could be heard from the youngest of the litter, his snout dripping with slobbery tears, “But . . . but isn’t there anything we could do?”

The oldest piglet’s stern gaze fell on the mucky straw bed, and he wriggled his way to the far corner of the pen.

A strange indignant rage suddenly came over the youngest piglet,

“Well, if you don’t do something about it, then I will!”

He scanned the pen for a gap which would be wide enough for them to squeeze through, but the farmer had made sure that at least the bottom of the pen was escape-proof. Then the youngest piglet thought of making a rope ladder from the straw, but his tiny trotters lacked the dexterity for that. He had even tried climbing on top of his sibling’s backs only to find that he would slip and fall off at each attempt.

It was truly hopeless, and none of the others seemed the least bit interested in trying to get out. He sank into the muck beneath him, snivelling, and was just about ready to give up entirely when one of his siblings, piglet number seven, crawled over to him,

“You’re so brave, little brother”, said piglet number seven, “It’s a pity that we aren’t more like you. But, if you really want to survive, there’s a much easier way”

The youngest piglet stifled his whimpering, “How? Please, please tell me!”

Piglet number seven smirked a little, “Isn’t it obvious? The sow will eventually wake up – nothing can change that. And she must be fed . . .”

The youngest piglet’s eyes widened in horror, “No . . . no, no, NO! You can’t be serious! That’s”-

“Ssshh! Do you want to wake her up now?”

Looking around frightened, the youngest piglet checked that his mother was still sleeping.

Number seven meanwhile went on, whispering,

 “We won’t have to do anything out of the ordinary. We simply choose one and sit on him while he sleeps”

“How long has this been going on for? This can’t be normal . . . it just can’t be!” searching his sister’s face, he begged,

“Please tell me this isn’t normal!”

But number seven continued as if she had not heard him,

“I think number twelve’s been quite ill lately . . . and I’m sure that sad little limp of his must be agonizing, wouldn’t you agree?”

The youngest piglet shivered in the cold night but would not break eye contact with number seven. The sow still fast asleep turned and twisted, causing all piglets to flinch in fear of being smothered.

Having overheard the appalling conversation, the second eldest piglet rose from her comfy place between piglets three and four (the oldest piglet was still curled up in the far corner on his own). She stood next to the youngest and remarked,

“Have you no shame? What right have you to frighten him and fill his head with such lunacy?”

In fact, she was speaking so loudly and angrily that she soon startled the others, and all ears and eyes were on her. Even the eldest had to acknowledge the scene. He rolled over, then pushed himself up into a sitting position, taken aback by his sister’s frankness.

Despite her own amazement, piglet number seven persisted,

“What right have I? You know as well as anyone else how things work around here! You know that number one is right; you know that when the frost comes that we’ll either freeze to death, starve or be eaten ourselves if the sow isn’t fed. It’s not a pretty life; it isn’t even a fair one, but it’s life, and we can’t idly lie around and accept what’s coming, can we? So, if one of us has to die, then surely it should be the feeblest of us?”

This caused a deafening uproar among the piglets, so much so that some even became vicious and resorted to biting, headbutting, or shoving their siblings’ faces into the mud. Others squealed and argued, throwing hurtful insults and accusations at each other, making the rage and panic even worse.

Suddenly, out of desperation, the youngest piglet squealed at the top of his lungs at which the sow finally opened her eyes and slowly started to sit up.

The piglets stopped their fighting, terrified and deeply disturbed by their mother’s great size and movement. In the darkness of the barn, her outline appeared to them to be that of a Kodiak bear on its hind legs. Her floppy ears pointed forward, her nostrils flared, and her mouth foamed. Somehow her teats, still raw and swollen with milk, now also caused them to shudder.  

Instinctively, they huddled together in the far corner, with their ears raised and their eyes fixed in every other direction to avoid her gaze.

The youngest piglet however, dared to look the sow in the eye, and only then to discover a deep exhaustion and sadness looking back at him. Had she not slept? Was she not, in fact, out for blood like his siblings predicted?

He timidly stepped forward and approached his mother with caution. As he got closer, a deep calm voice inquired,

“Are you the one who has been causing such trouble?”

The youngest piglet replied, “I don’t think I have, but what will happen to the troublemaker if they confess?”

The sow sighed at this knowingly then answered, “No one will die tonight, if that’s your question . . . but still they must be punished.”

The piglets were relieved though troubled at what their mother meant by “punished”. But most of them concluded that piglet number seven had indeed been causing the most distress among them, and so were quick to respond,

“It was number seven’s fault!” they squealed and pushed her forcefully towards the front. Piglet number seven now silently cowered in front of her mother, with tears in her eyes,

“Is it true what your siblings have said, number seven?” the sow asked.

She hesitated only for a moment, but squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded her head. The sow, saddened by this, wasted no time in administering justice. She seized number seven’s tail with her teeth, at which the sorry little piglet squealed in pain. Number seven retreated to the far corner of the pen once more, and bitterly faced the wall sobbing loudly. Still, the sow had not quite finished,

“The farmer will return. We were left for a day, it’s true but it was just a day. So, any more nonsense out of you, any horror stories told about your monstrous mother and her tendencies towards savagery, or any attempt to upset the smallest of you, will be handled accordingly. Now, it’s nearly morning, we’re all tired, and in need of rest. So, go to sleep!”

Morning came as the sow had told them, and the farmer had indeed returned, though less steadily than the day before yesterday.

He sealed up the barn as well as his strength allowed, he filled the sow’s trough with fresh slop, and he cleaned out the stove and lit a new fire.

By the time he had finished, he was already exhausted but checked the pen. When he saw that piglet number seven’s tail was missing, he hastily searched for the culprit. There had been no evidence of a predator in the night and none of the other piglets showed any sign of involvement. His heart sank when he finally spotted blood stains across the sow’s snout.

That afternoon he spent in the barn, preparing a second pen for the piglets to be kept from then on.

Then he spent the remainder of the evening tending to piglet number seven’s open wound.

The piglets never fought amongst themselves ever again.