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He does this adorable bouncy move, lifting off his front legs for a split second like a dog asking for a treat. My heart cartwheels.
“He’s been over here snuffling around since you left.” Marty walks out the front door with a boyish grin, his hair a mess, and holds it open for Gram to follow.
“Sorry about that,” Weston says. “Looks like I’ll need to put a cement barrier around his whole pen—and hire a part-time warden for good measure.”
“Naughty piiig,” I tell Hercules, wagging a finger. “We had a deal, remember? I bring you yummies every morning and you stay in your pen.”
Hercules grunts, stomping one foot in the dirt. Then with his head hanging low, he trots away from all of us.
We all watch as he skitters past the front of the house and around the corner.
Curious, I follow him. So does everyone else, even Gram with her walker, moving down the ramp and onto the grass to watch from a distance.
Herc knows where he’s going, all the way to Weston’s turf. There, he wiggles his way under the loose wooden boards of his pen and plops down in the dirt, winded, his round belly rising and falling with effort.
“Look at that! He really is a little Einstein, but we all knew that. He won the blue ribbon at the fair three years in a row for good reason,” Faye says proudly, hands perched on her hips. “Trouble is, he’s always had a mind of his own. You have to win him over if you want him to play nice.”
Weston groans, muffling a curse and pulling a big hand over his face.
I try not to laugh.
I truly don’t know what to say or do.
I’m just as amazed as everyone else by the mind that pig has.
With a sympathetic grimace for West, I shrug.
“Hey, I made the deal with him, and I’ve fed him every morning...up until today. Maybe that’s the issue. He thought I cheated him.”
Faye grins and clucks laughter that’s way too infectious. I’m laughing too while Weston rage-stares at the pig like he’s found his Christmas ham.
I’m doubled over again the longer the staring match goes on, wiping the corners of my eyes.
“That’s not it. He likes you real swell, Shelly, and he’s finicky with who he likes,” Faye explains. “He’s picked you, and he wants you to like him, too. Consider it a funny way of making friends.”
She nods approvingly as Marty slaps her gently on the shoulder.
“My little sister, the pig whisperer,” he says with a smirk. “Shelly, what else did you learn at that fancy college?”
When I’m done rolling my eyes, my gaze flicks to Weston, but he isn’t smiling back.
He’s back to wearing that worn, impenetrable expression—the one that belongs to a strange man I can’t crack, no matter how well things went today.
That makes me sad despite my lingering smile.
Just awesome. Looks like my hometown best friend is a badly behaved pig.
An actual pig.
Not the guy I’ve loved forever, who might as well have a moat around his heart a hundred feet deep and guarded by fire-breathing krakens.
How pathetic is my life?
10
Roll Me In Mud (Weston)
I stare up at the burning blue sky until my neck hurts.
