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The Puggativity (Part II)



~ Part 2 ~

Even now, nearly eighteen months later, the elder boars of the sounder shudder at the thought of that terrifying afternoon when their peaceful forest was invaded by the horrible orange-woof-woof hunters. That fateful day was especially hard on Mummy-Puggy and Daddy-Puggy: for they had lost their clever brown piglet Puggy.

“We all thought you were dead”, Daddy-Puggy said. “We searched and searched for you, but you’d disappeared without a trace”.

That day had begun much like any other. The sounder was sleepily munching its way through a tasty patch of forest after their noon nap. The elders were lazily lounging next to tasty tufts of grass; the shoats and gilts were snorting to each other teasingly between snoutfuls, and the seven newborn piglets—including Boran, Boren, Boron, and Puggy—enjoyed playing in the sun.

But the peace was not to last. Suddenly a terrified bright orange-woof-woof streaked into the clearing, barking in panic.

“The poor thing was exhausted”, Mummy-Puggy said. “She looked like she’d been running for hours.”

Then an almighty crashing sound ricocheted through the forest.

“The very ground itself vibrated”, Daddy-Puggy snorted. “It sounded like a charging army of huge monsters.”

The sounder had collectively frozen at the sight of the distressed animal, but then the orange-woof-woof yelped “Flee! Flee for your lives!”, and bolted away into the undergrowth.

Panicking, the sounder broke out into a chaotic run.

“I was so worried”, Mummy-Puggy snorted, visibly shaking at the memory. “I thought the others would leave us families with piglets behind and save themselves.”

However boars bond strongly within their sounder, and they never abandon each other.

“All for boar and boar for all”, Daddy-Puggy snorted proudly.

Soon the sounder had organised itself: each piglet climbed on top of one of the adults, and together they fled in one coordinated mass of hooves, tails and bobbing piglet heads.

But it wasn’t going to be enough. Not even close.

Hot on their hooves came the monsters: a raiding party of bad woof-woofs and bad two-legs riding horse-woof-woofs. They careened and crashed their way through the forest, crushing everything in their wake and leaving rampant devastation behind them. All in pursuit of one petrified defenceless orange-woof-woof.

The sounder wasn’t to know, but that afternoon an illegal fox hunt was taking place.

“As we were trotting away you started looking very worriedly at the ground”, Daddy-Puggy said to Puggy. “We thought maybe you’d dropped a tasty mouthful or perhaps seen a yummy morsel. At first we ignored you, but soon your agitated squealing forced us to stop.”

“We couldn’t work out why you were distressed. You kept pointing your little front trotter at our hoofprints in the ground.”

“Eventually we worked it out: you were worried the monsters would be able to see where we’d gone by following our trail!”.

At this point in the story Piggy felt all warm and tingly inside. “That’s my boar”, she thought to herself. “That’s my boar.”

Back in the forest, as the sounder fled, brave baby Puggy jumped off Daddy-Puggy’s back. Clever little Puggy thought he’d draw an arrow in the ground pointing the other way. Surely that would fool the oncoming monsters!

“Unfortunately we didn’t realise you’d jumped until it was too late”, Mummy-Puggy snorted with tears in her eyes. “By the time we’d realised you’d gone, it was too late.”

To be continued…

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