She reluctantly started to trudge through the mud, her eyes practically squeezed shut as she did.
“And to answer your question,” I said, “what you’re hearing are my pigs.”
“Pigs?” she gasped. “They sound like starving cats.”
“Pigs,” I confirmed. “They’re the only fat asses that ‘can’t live off the land’ because they’re spoiled little shits.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Did they get starved all week?”
I shook my head. “No. They can forage and live off the land. They just would rather be fed apples and table scraps like dogs.”
Her lips twitched up into a smile as we made it into the barn, and I pointed at the closet that held the new boots.
“Don’t know if they’re your size,” I said. “But I’m sure they’ll work.”
She pulled the door open and her eyes lit on all the stuff that was in there.
Random boots in all sizes, clothes, jackets. Anything someone visiting might need.
“Not my stuff, by the way,” I told her as I opened the pigs’ feed bin and started to load the wheelbarrow that was next to it. My head throbbed with each shovel full. “When I moved here, the farmer had granddaughters. The granddaughters visited at random times, so he always made sure to keep stuff handy for them. But the boots really are new. I ordered myself a pair and those were with them.”
Belle pulled the bright, shiny black boots with colorful yellow daisies on them out of the closet and smiled.
“They are my size,” she said as she walked to the nearest pile of feed sacks and took a seat on top of three bags. Then she proceeded to toe off her shoes as delicately as she could, then don the boots.
She held them up for inspection.
“Cute,” I told her, not lying in the least. “Until they get covered in mud.”
She wrinkled up her nose but didn’t complain as we walked together to the still bleating pigs.
“You have cows.” She stopped in front of a Boudin, a jersey milk cow that I’d rescued a few years ago.
And why the fuck could I remember what I did a few years ago, but the last year was a complete and utter blank? Hell, if I was being honest, I wasn’t even too crushed about it seeing as it landed Belle in my lap.
Boudin stuck her neck out in hopes of pats, but Belle was already backing away.
“I don’t do mud well,” she explained hesitantly. “I don’t do sticky. And I don’t do loud noises. Do you think that those pigs’ll stop screaming when you feed them?”
I walked to their pen and dumped the food into the trough instead of answering. The moment that the food hit the metal, and all the pigs surrounded it, the bleating stopped as if it’d never been.
Belle started to chuckle as she walked carefully through the muddy area until she was standing next to the fence.
“They probably never made a sound until they heard me pull up,” I explained. “They really do have plenty to eat out there.” I pointed to the pasture and the trees that the pigs had the run of. “They like to put on a good show, though. This’ll be a daily occurrence, FYI.”
Belle smiled softly, then bent over until she could see the pigs closer.
I had eighteen pigs, in all different breeds and sizes.
“The smallest is that black and white mini-pot belly pig. Candace weighs in at a hefty eighty-nine pounds. The largest is a big boy.” I pointed toward the fat bastard at the front of the line currently eating over his fair share. “His name is Thumper and he is a Red Wattle.”
Then there were all the sizes, breeds, and colors in between.
Belle listened intently, taking every single thing in that she could like a sponge, thirsty for more.
She asked me question after question until finally the pigs were done and started looking at me like they wanted a second dinner.
I was tempted to give it to them for not being here all week, but there were other animals I needed to take care of.