Swine Not?

by Jimmy Buffett

  IT WAS EARLY Saturday morning, only one more day until Halloween, and tonight was the mayor’s birthday dinner. My day began when a bright ray of sun lit up the whole living room. As I slowly opened my eyes, the fish tank was surrounded by a perfect blue sky, and I let out a big sigh of relief. I lifted myself off the couch and took a long stretch. The apartment was unusually quiet. We had all stayed up late, modeling for one another, and the kids were still asleep. I had heard Ellie come in, but I had no idea what time that was. There were none of the usual sounds of Ellie in the kitchen making breakfast, but a scent in the air made me shudder.

  I had completely forgotten the treats Ellie had promised to bring home the night before until a perfume of caramelized sugar made its way to my snout. I knew what was in the kitchen — cotton candy, one of my favorites. I leaped off the sofa as if I had just consumed a triple espresso and headed lickety-split toward the treasure leaning next to my bowl in the kitchen corner. Just as I was about to devour that large, pink triangular swirl, my morning treat was shattered by a frantic tapping at the window. When I looked over to see what was going on, the entire Pigilante squadron was crowded on the sill. They looked frantic.

  I was diverted from my route to the bowl and headed to the window. Before I could nudge it all the way up, Frostbite ducked into the opening. “Your bruddah was spotted in da park only five minutes ago. It’s time to make a move if ya wanna catch him.”

  “But I’m not ready!” I protested in shock.

  “Few of us ever are. If ya wanna try and catch him, we havta go now.”

  I thought for a second about my beautiful breakfast treat and then about Ellie and the kids — and all the fear and concern they would feel if I was missing.

  “Rumpy!” Frostbite said in a stern voice.

  What could I do? “Blood is thicker than cotton candy,” I muttered to Frostbite and went to suit up.

  I sneaked quietly into Maple’s room, trying not to look at the innocent expression on her sleeping face. My costume was lying under her bed. I felt like a home-wrecker, but I had no choice. I carefully carried my costume back to the living room, where I managed to put it on with the help of the Pigilantes. It reminded me of that scene from Cinderella I had seen on TV when she is getting dressed for the ball. I just hoped I didn’t turn into a pumpkin this Halloween Eve.

  “Quite impressive,” Frostbite said with a salute. He wished me luck and told me they would meet me at a statue in the park.

  Figuring out how to escape the hotel without detection wasn’t an option. I just had to work it out as I went. I slipped through the door of the fish tank and headed for the elevator. The door opened, and I went in. I knew that on any floor, the elevator could open and the Butcher could step in and discover me. I tried to put the idea out of my head, replacing that thought with visions of Lukie.

  Next thing I knew, I was in the lobby. Not hesitating for a moment, I went into “stuck-up uptown dog” character, raised my nose, and proceeded across the marble lobby as if I owned it. The sound of my hooves clicking on the floor set a natural rhythm as I followed a trio of perfumed ladies gliding toward their waiting limousine. When Freddy held the door, I thought about joining them, but a better option appeared I spotted a dog walker out on the sidewalk.

  For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, in big cities, people make a job out of collecting dogs from owners of apartments and hotel guests. They take the dogs collectively for a walk around the park to let them get some air and do their business. Well, this dog walker looked like one of those stagecoach drivers in an old Western movie. He must have had about a dozen leashes attached to a dozen different breeds of dogs. There were golden retrievers, dachshunds, Great Danes, poodles, and Pekingese, and they seemed to be dragging the dog walker past the front door, barking and yipping all the way.

  Freddy saw the dog walker coming and immediately nodded his head toward the side double doors. I made my move. I rushed from the elevator, sped through the revolving doors, and joined the pack of dogs passing by. Nobody even paid attention to the fact that I had no leash. A hotel guest added a Westie to the pack. I stayed with the dogs to the corner, where a policeman held up traffic so we could cross.

  Now I was in the park. I veered left as the dog walker and his herd walked right, and no one batted an eye. I was concerned that two dogs on the corner would spot me as an imposter under my faux fur, but the Afghan rudely looked away while the mountain dog beside her whistled and winked admiringly as I passed. The humans seemed completely oblivious, so I assumed a rhythmic canine swagger and headed for my rendezvous with the Pigilantes.

  CHAPTER 37

  Halloween Comes Early in New York

  RUMPY

  IT WAS STILL a day early, but it was the weekend, and people were already out in the park in costumes. To my delight, many humans had dressed their pets for the occasion. This made my walk to the zoo even less noticeable.

  I have to say that dogs are really given carte blanche in New York. Any mangy mutt with a collar and tags gets red-carpet treatment. It does not go unnoticed by the rest of us four-legged creatures.

  I found the statue that Frostbite had described, and the Pigilantes were there, perched on the arms of Simón Bolívar. Even they didn’t recognize me at first until I gave a familiar snort. Then they swooped down and landed in a circle around me.

  Some kids nearby dressed as bunny rabbits were throwing peanuts, but the Pigilantes paid them no mind and cooed their reconnaissance to me. A pig disguised as a possum had definitely been spotted near the elephant cage in the zoo, and word had it that he was searching for another pig disguised as a dog or a room-service table.

  “That’s me!” I yelled excitedly.

  “Dat’s you, sistah,” Frostbite said with glee. “We would love ta do an aerial sweep of da park, only ting is we got an emergency over on Coney Island. You can head over to da zoo and start looking. We will come back and give ya air support as soon as we are free. Good luck!” Frostbite said. He saluted, and then they left for their mission.

  I was just about to go to the zoo when — wham! — I smelled him. It had been soooo many years, but the scent was just as strong as when we were piglets. My nose locked in, and I followed along.

  My heart was about to jump out my throat, and I did my best to conceal my excitement. I attached myself like a devoted dog to the nearest group of humans as they chatted and walked down the path. I kept up the pace right at their heels so we appeared to be together.

  I peeled off from the humans when I saw the sign that pointed in the direction of the elephant exhibit. Lukie’s scent got even stronger. I was greeted with howls, growls, and hoots by the animals on the other side of the bars. It seemed that the larger the animal, the more helpful it proved to be. The elephants were the first to confirm that Lukie had been by their exhibit no more than five minutes ago. I was beside myself.

  I had been focusing completely on Lukie, so I hadn’t noticed that the chubby weatherman’s morning forecast of sunshine had been off. It started to rain, and the canaries weren’t the only creatures to go into a dither as the first drops fell. The humans joined the frenzy as the rain started coming down in buckets, and they ran for shelter. I continued alone toward the seal pool.

  The elephants said the seals knew everything that went on in the park. They must have been right, for as I headed to the pool, Lukie’s scent got stronger. I was tempted to let out a huge roar; if he heard it, he would immediately recognize my hog call, but I held my tongue for fear of creating a panic in the park.

  As I trotted along, solo, in Lukie’s direction through the quickly forming puddles, my costume and I were soaked. The wind began to howl and bend the branches of the tall oak trees. The sky grew darker overhead. I should have known it was an omen. As the drops turned into a deluge, water began to pour through the eye openings of my costume, and my vision blurred.

  The reaction to thunder in the animal world is like the human reaction when a jet breaks the
sound barrier at treetop level. When the boom came, it instantly ignited my survival instinct — not only to the terror of the thunder but to something else in the air that I couldn’t quite understand. The stampede of rain-soaked tourists was on, and in no time the caged animals retreated from their open areas to their caves, and I was left alone.

  Believe me, I wasn’t humming “Singin’ in the Rain.” The storm had temporarily drowned out Lukie’s scent, and I, too, sought shelter from the storm. I spotted a deserted wooden bench and strained to squeeze myself under it, but water trickled right through the seat, continuing to soak me, and it was getting colder.

  Then, as quickly as the rain had started, it suddenly ended. The dark, ominous cloud moved away from the park, and the sun reappeared. I wiggled free from under the bench and stood to shake the wetness off, but I found the costume had acted like a sponge and had soaked up a good part of the deluge.

  I returned to where I had been standing when the skies had opened up, but now I was a much soggier, heavier pig. A group of humans were trying to get organized as they pulled off the yellow plastic ponchos that had been distributed by the overly efficient tour director. She folded her umbrella, blew her whistle, and resumed the tour.

  People in New York don’t seem to waste a minute. I fell in behind them again, trotting toward the seal pool, where I hoped to reacquire Lukie’s scent. As I heard the happy bark of a seal, I noticed my hooves were flashing like signal mirrors, reflecting the reappearing rays of sunlight. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Maple’s costume had begun to shrink. It was shriveling up in odd segments and shifted sideways on my back. I was looking less like a dog with every step and more like a you-know-what.

  “Cochon!” a voice behind me growled as a knife blade whizzed into sight. I instinctively leaped, but it grazed my snout. I stumbled, then rolled into a hedge. I froze in silence just ten feet away from my attacker. I had heard about muggers and city gangs — Ellie was constantly warning her children to be watchful. But who would pull a knife on a dog?

  I couldn’t believe what had just happened, but instantly I figured it out. That putrid stink of Turkish tobacco, garlic, and wine belonged to only one person — Boucher. When I caught sight of him, he was stooping down in his long black coat to wipe my blood from his blade on the wet grass.

  CHAPTER 38

  I’m Not a Sausage—I’m an Animal

  RUMPY

  TO MY HORROR, after attacking me, Boucher did not flee like the criminal he was. Instead, he slid the knife under his coat and shoved aside a city gardener. He grabbed a set of gas-powered hedge trimmers — the kind with giant scissor arms on the end. While the gardener shrieked, Boucher cranked up the trimmer, and the scissors swept back and forth rapidly, like the jaws of an alligator devouring every branch of the hedge in which I was hiding. Boucher was carving the shrubs like a madman and was now only yards away. When he reached the end of the hedge, I knew he would find me.

  Things were not looking good. The shrill whine of the hedge trimmer, combined with his furious voice, tangled my thinking. I searched desperately for another hiding place, knowing he would twist the story and claim a hero’s reward for saving the city from a delusional pig dressed in a dog suit, running madly through the shrubbery.

  The Butcher would explain that such a wild, rabid creature had to be put out of its misery for the common good. Blades slashed closer and closer as he screamed, “Le cochon aujourd’hui . . . le saucisson demain!”

  As people began to shout at him for destroying the hedge, he yelled out, “Stay back! There is a wild, rabid pig in here!” He kept warning the shocked crowd, as if I might bite or injure one of them. Meanwhile, the gardener had taken refuge under a picnic table.

  My options were running out. I could either charge the Butcher and become the crazy pig he claimed I was or try my luck in the open field and make a run for it in the opposite direction.

  I was about to dash to the seal pool when I heard Boucher cursing above the noise of the machine. He was frantically swatting the sky with his free hand. The Pigilantes had returned, and they were dropping their “bombs,” which splattered all over his long black coat with perfect accuracy. The Pigilante raid provided just the distraction I needed to slip out of the bushes without being seen by the Butcher.

  As I made my break, some of the young zoo trainers came out in brightly colored wet suits. Carrying beach balls and buckets of sardines, they stepped onto a large rock in the middle of the seal pool as a chorus of hungry barks erupted from the delighted seals. This ritual was a favorite of the crowd, and everyone rushed to the pool, forgetting about Boucher and his hedge trimmer. Hiding in the crowd, I took a breath and bolted like a cannonball, though my stride was restricted by the costume’s increasingly tight fit.

  Just as I hit a decent speed, I was distracted by the sight, dead ahead, of a passerby casually flicking a lit cigarette behind him. It landed in a box of rags and cleaning fluid under a nearby work shed just off the bike path. In a matter of seconds, the dry rags were aflame, and they quickly ignited the storage shed. Peeling painted letters on its side read CAUTION: FLAMMABLE LIQUIDS.

  I put on the brakes when I saw an old lady seated on a nearby bench with her back to the inferno, feeding several squirrels, totally unaware of the impending danger. She was dressed, I must say, even worse than I was, in a long shaggy coat and a hat with giant plumes that trailed all the way down her back. She looked like a Christmas candle about to be lit.

  I veered from my escape route, took the end of her coat in my teeth, spun her around so she could see the flames, and then dragged her to safer ground. Just then, a park police car arrived on the scene. Without a backward glance, I resumed my flight, having no idea how strange I looked or that a crowd had gathered around the old lady. All I was thinking was how to get back home to the security and safety of my fish tank and family.

  When Flutbein’s loomed ahead, it gave me the strength to keep running until I finally limped through the service gate. Inch by inch I sneaked past hotel workers, security guards, and hall maids. I retraced my old room-service escape route to the roof, hoping somebody would be home to let me in.

  I was in luck. I could see the glow of the TV in the living room and the image of SpongeBob dancing around on the screen. I scratched the door and banged against the glass.

  Syrup popped her head above the couch, and Maple stood up and looked my way. I must have been a sight in my tattered and bloodied costume. I was cold and shivering, and my heart was pounding with fear. Blood still trickled down my nose.

  Maple rushed to the door and opened it. “Rumpy! Where have you been? Mom and Barley are . . . oh no!” she screamed. “You’re hurt! What happened to you?”

  I couldn’t even look up at her. I was soooo ashamed of running out on them. I just crept slowly toward the sanctuary of my spot in Maple’s closet, but Maple stopped me in my tracks and made me lie down. She was already administering first aid to my cut as she patted my head and cleaned and bandaged my snout.

  Well, there was still one person in the world who loved me.

  The phone rang. She got up to answer it, leaving me alone on the floor in her room. I heard her tell Ellie that I was home, but my thoughts turned to the predicament in which I found myself. Would I ever see Lukie again? Would the Butcher hunt me down and attack again? How could I communicate to any human what he had tried to do to me? It was too much to think about, and I just wanted to crawl back into the closet, snuggle next to my Lukieball, and worry about what was coming next. I didn’t have to wait long.

  CHAPTER 39

  Just Dessert

  BARLEY

  FALLING DOMINOES always fascinate me. You usually see them on some “believe it or not”–type TV show that features a video of a large hangarlike room filled with all imaginable kinds of curved and looped ramps, bridges, ladders, waterwheels, and windmills, and about a jillion dominoes stacked neatly and precisely next to one another along a track. Then some guy, usually wear
ing a lab coat and thick horn-rimmed glasses, is lifted up in a bucket crane to the beginning of the trail. He gently taps the first domino, and the chain reaction begins. The dominoes fall in speedy succession. One topples, and the next thing you know, the whole room has collapsed. It looks so smooth and controlled and graceful on television, but in real life, I am here to tell you it’s a different story.

  I guess what first started our family dominoes falling was Rumpy’s disappearance. I had planned to take advantage of the good weather that Saturday to go to the park and play in a pickup soccer game, but I was diverted into a search party by Mom. The city was all abuzz with play-off fever, and about half the guys on the field that morning were going to the game that afternoon. Of course, I would rather have been playing soccer, but I knew I had to look for Rumpy.

  To make matters worse, I still hadn’t heard from my dad. I had made the swap with the trainer for his tickets, which were in the nosebleed section, but they were tickets all the same. I just hoped I would have someone to take with me to the game. If my dad pulled a no-show, then I was going to ask one of the guys in the pickup game to go. Just as I was about to give up looking for Rumpy, I saw Maple running toward me. Maple never ran. Something was wrong. I raced to her as fast as I could. She told me that Rumpy was back home but that our pig had been attacked by somebody.