The Twisted Tale of Oliver Dumfries (Part 2 of 2)

Oliver gulped. He didn't want to take something that belonged to someone else. But the clothes looked so beautiful, and he was the most civilized animal he knew.


So when it grew dark and all his family slept soundly, Oliver wiggled underneath the pig pen fence and headed for the chicken coop. Most of the hens were roosting high above the nestboxes, leaving their precious eggs unguarded. Oliver took a deep breath, then started gathering.




Everything went smoothly until Oliver headed toward the coop door. He was carrying so many eggs, he didn't see the chicken feeder on his right. He tripped and bumped right into Riley Rooster.


Riley took one look at Oliver and started bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Thief! Thief! Cock-a-doodle! Thief!"


In half a second, the whole coop exploded with a cacophony of clucking, pecking and scratching. Oliver sped through the coop entrance, but not without dropping a couple eggs and receiving several painful pecks on his tail.




After nursing his pride and aching backside, Oliver limped to the Farmer's front porch. The Farmer's wife always kept Fluffy's food dish well supplied with cream. But unfortunately, Fluffy now lay curled around it, snoring.

Oliver tiptoed up the stairs and slowly, ever so slowly, picked up the dish to pour its precious contents into the empty milk bottle nearby. Once he drained the dish, he carefully put it back against Fluffy's side.


But not carefully enough.


Fluffy's eyes shot open, his pupils narrowing in the bright moonlight. With a hiss most unpleasant, he swiped at Oliver's face, leaving a crimson scratch upon the pig's nose.

Oliver grabbed the cream and sprinted back toward the pigpen, running at top speed.



When he finally caught his breath, Oliver wiggled back under the fence to his beloved shed and clean hay. Jacob Foxworthy sat just outside the pen, waiting. He smiled at the disheveled pig.




"My, my!" He exclaimed. "You're quite a sight, little pig. Have any trouble?"




Oliver blushed and placed his loot on the ground. Mr. Foxworthy sniffed at the pile of eggs and half-filled bottle of cream. (Much of the cream had sloshed out of the bottle during Oliver's little dash back to the pen).



"This is not what I asked for," the fox said.


Oliver shot Mr. Foxworthy an exasperated glance. "If you only knew what I went through to get this, you would be satisfied," he grunted.





Mr. Foxworthy shrugged. "Very well," he yawned. "You need this outfit more than I do. Anything would improve your appearance tonight."And with a quick flick of his tail, the tailor trotted out of sight.





Oliver quickly donned his reward and headed for the water trough to see his reflection and wipe his aching nose. Despite the minor wound, Oliver felt pleased.





"How handsome I look," he thought as he stared into the water. "Tomorrow I shall go to town and show all these common farm animals just how civilized a pig can be."





The next morning, Oliver again stood in the far corner of the pig pen, careful not to get any mud on his new clothes. It didn't take long for all the other pigs to notice his new look.





"Oliver," his brother said, "is that you?"





"Why of course it's me. How do you like my clothes?" Oliver asked, beaming with pride.





"You... you don't even look like a pig anymore, Oliver!" Reginald stammered.





Oliver smiled a huge smile. His brother couldn't have paid him a greater compliment.





"Exactly," Oliver replied. "I'm finished with this pen. I'm going to town, and maybe I'll find an outfit for you too."





"How did you get the clothes? And where did that scratch on your nose come from?" his parents asked.





But Oliver had no time for questions. "Unlike you, I actually have places to be. So enjoy your dirt. I'm off to the town. Farewell!" And with that, he left the pen while his family and friends stared sadly after him.



Oliver didn't know exactly which way town was. But he'd seen the Farmer head north that morning and figured he could try that direction first. Some of the animals snickered as Oliver passed by, walking on his hind legs. But most were so stunned, they just gawked. Oliver loved the attention and stuck his snout higher in the air.



"They all wish they dressed as well as I," he thought to himself.



Oliver followed the road and sure enough, it led him right to the marketplace at the center of town. Oliver's eyes widened at the sight of tables with ripened cheeses, baskets of fresh sweet corn, carts filled with juicy apples, and more colors and sounds than he had ever known.

He was about to sample a ripe peach, when he heard an angry shout.

"William! William!" A bearded man with a red face pushed his way through the crowd and pointed right at Oliver. It was the Farmer!

"What on earth are you doing out of school, young man?" he demanded. "I ought to take you out to the woodshed right now!"

Oliver turned white. Apparently Mr. Foxworthy was more a theif than a tailor.

"Come here, lad. We're going home!" The Farmer reached for Oliver's hand, but Oliver turned and ran, bewildering the Farmer and everyone else.

The chase began. Oliver got on all fours and sprinted back to the road with the Farmer following like an angry tornado.

"William!" he kept shouting, "Stop at once! You'll not eat supper for a week! William, stop!"

Oliver ran for his life, dodging in and out of thickets, trying to lose his pursuer. Finally, he reached the pig pen. Oliver dove under the fence, but the clothes caught the wires. Wiggling feverishly, Oliver tore his way out of the outfit and dove into the mud puddle for cover.

Three seconds later, the Farmer saw his son's clothes hanging on the fence. He huffed and puffed, catching his breath. He looked this way and that, but couldn't find his son. All he saw were a bunch of muddy pigs staring back at him. Throwing his hands up in frustration, he stomped up the steps to his house.

Back at the pen, Oliver sat in the mu weeping. All the other pigs stared at his scratches and bruises. He was a miserable sight. After several minutes, Oliver's family wallowed toward him. His mother gave him a kiss and started applying more mud to his aching body. Oliver hated to admit it, but the mud did feel cool and soothing against his scraped skin.

"I'm sorry," Oliver said at length. "I'm sorry for making fun of everyone. I'm sorry for taking the eggs and cream. And I'm really, really sorry for shaming us all. I must have looked rediculous just now." Tears streamed down Oliver's face, making tiny pink streaks in his muddied countenence.


"We don't really care what the other animals think. We're just glad you're home, son," Oliver's dad grunted. Oliver looked at Reginald's smiling face, as well as the encouraging faces of all his cousins and friends. And for the first time in his life, Oliver was happy to be home too.