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Gandolf flapped his wings, honking loudly.
Grunting snorts filled the air.
Bernie swore. “What the hell?” She switched on her light and shined it around the watermelon patch.
Every one of the pigs that had been in the temporary corral was scattered across the section of the watermelon patch they’d already picked.
“They’re heading for the unpicked melons,” Bernie said. “We have to stop them before they get there.”
“How?”
“I need you to head them off before they get there,” Bernie said. “I’m going back to the barn for a bucket of grain.”
Gerard didn’t like the idea of Bernie going back alone, but the pigs had almost made it to the unpicked part of the patch.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him as she spun and ran toward the barn.
Careful not to trip over vines and melons, Gerard worked his way over to the pigs and positioned himself between them and the melons that were ready to be picked the next day. Unsure of how he was supposed to keep a dozen pigs from marching right past him, he raised his arms and waved like Bernie had earlier with Penelope. “Go on,” he said. “Back to your pen.”
The pigs fell back a few steps, swung wide and made another attempt to enter the land of juicy melons.
“No way,” Gerard said and hurried to head them off.
With every attempt, they moved a little closer.
Gerard flapped his arms and yelled at them, but they weren’t scared or impressed. He couldn’t let them get to the melons, but short of shooting them, there wasn’t enough of him to keep all of them from getting where they wanted to go. Not to mention, some of them were twice his weight and could easily trample him to death.
He tried not to dwell on that thought.
Just when he thought the pigs would win the race, he heard the sound of grain being shaken in a tin pail.
“Here, pig,” Bernie called out. She shook the pail as she neared the pigpen. “Here, pig.”
The pigs that had been intent on reaching the ripe watermelons looked toward the sound of the grain in the bucket and Bernie’s voice calling out to them.
She shook the bucket again. “Here, pig.”
A large sow, Gerard guessed was Penelope, turned and trotted toward Bernie.
The others, curious, hurried to catch up, eager to get the grain Bernie offered.
Instead of herding them back into the makeshift pen of corral panels, Bernie opened the gate to their regular pen and dumped most of the grain from the bucket into a feed trough.
Gerard followed behind the herd, shining his flashlight into the shadows, searching for any strays that might not have been tempted by the grain.
When he reached the pen, his boots sank into the mud. While the majority of the field had dried during the day, the ground by the pen was still wet from the rain the night before. Bernie stood near the gate, a frown denting her brow. “I’m missing one.”
Gerard attempted to turn, but the suction of the mud kept him in place.
“Oh, there he is,” Bernie said. “Better move. He’s coming in fast.”
Gerard tried to pull his booted foot out of the mud, only succeeding in bringing up his foot. The boot remained.
Balancing on one leg, he was trying to fit his foot back in the sunken boot when Bernie cried out. “Look out!”
Unable to move out of the way, Gerard could only swing his body halfway around in time to see a giant hog barreling toward him.
At the last second, the hog darted to the right, but his big body bumped Gerard, sending him flying backward.
