Der Drei Liddle Oinksters Return From Dec. 19, 2022.

 Just for fun, since we are nearing the High Holiday of Judaism.

*O*

Once there was a time, neither here nor there, when three wee swine lived at home in a split-level conundrum with Ma Schwein and Pa Schwein.  As was for usual, Pa went to his tiny field to tend the rutabagas and work on his expositions. (the dog matters not a whit!)

As it happens, Pa forgot to take his lunch along, as he could never keep his mind on the thing at hand, at all. He was, by all accounts, a hog of great pigheaded distractibility.

Now, being as they were pigs, they were neither quite Christians nor quite Jews.  They were somewhere else in the scheme of story tellings.  But, don't let me get ahead of myself.

Ma Florence, for that was her name, said to wee Nathan, "get ye gone, find your progenitor and bring him this bag of cornbread and schnitzel, for he has gone out without sustenance once more!  You will find him in the rutabagas working on his expositions".

Wee Nathan disappeared over the nearest hummock as fast as his little trotters could take him, calling "oh Pa, where be ya?"  But he didna' come back in a timely manner to report the completion of the deed.

Next, Florence called Michael, a dark and lively little fellow, in a green velvet jacket, who smoked little black cigars.  She said "now Michael, both of them are loosed upon the world.  Go you, find em, secure the lunch Nathan is probably nipping into, get the grub and take it to your Pa."  

Michael changed out of the velvet, putting on a sort of brown hacking jacket, tucked his cigars in the left hand pocket and started out around the nearest hillock, somewhat reluctantly, for he had better things to do than hunt lost familial pigs.  But, just like Nathan, Michael was not to return from his errand betimes.

At her porcine wit's end, Florence called the last one of her progeny, wise Johan.  He had been out behind the conundrum, sighting on a distant mountain top with a wonderful contrivance of his own invention, and was just getting things all lined up right.  She said, "Johan, now it's either you or me, and in this case, it's you. Go.  Just find all of them, get the lunch, what's left of it, take it to your Pa and bring those two home. It's time for their lessons."

(never you mind the text, it's an illustration for display purposes only)

Johan, set off thoughtfully and observantly, following little split hoof prints and larger ones.  As he was trotting along, snout to the earth, a great smarmy wolf appeared.  He was fond of pigs, in the worst way possible.  Johan, seeing which way the wind was blowing, set off running for the rutabaga field to hide in the rows.  Wolf loped along easily behind him, snickering. A great ridge of rough grey fur ran along his spine in an upsetting way.

Johan came upon Michael sitting under a gorseberry bush, smoking again.  "Follow along, Michael" says Johan, getting rather puffed as it were. "There is a great grey wolf on my tail and gaining!" His tail, bye the way, had three curls in it.

Michael leapt up, threw away his cigar and followed Johan, as fast as all their wee leggies could take them heading out for the rutabaga field to hide amongst the leaves.

As it happens, the wolf seeing an easy meal in his future had stopped to piss on a Box hedge, and prematurely count his blessings.

Johan and Michael found Nathan reclining outside the gate of Pa's little field having a bit of cornbread for his troubles and looking very relaxed.

(Nathan was just out of camera range)

"Come along" said Johan, as Michael stood there tapping one trotter on the path impatiently, "there is a great horking wolf on our trail!  Get up and follow!"  Just then Mr. Wolf loped into view, out behind the Wisteria arbor and coming on strong!

The porcine bros set out, making good time like all little pigs can.  And they were making a hell of a squealing racket, truth be told. But they didn't have a clear idea of where to go for safety.  The patter of their little hooves was intense! In the meantime the sun had set, because it does that sometimes.

In their rush, they ran clear out of their own neighborhood and entered an area just outside the local tiny hamlet.  Get that, hamlet? lol.  Where oh where to go for a hidyhole of shelter from that lupine brute? Things were looking discomforting, and they were getting tired anyhow, when all of a sudden in the darkness they saw the front window of a small cottage, with the curtains not drawn shut as they should be at night.  There was a sort of strange candleholder in the window holding nine candles, of which only two were burning. Odd, but ok!

Clustering at the little green door, banging and fussing and sweating, they were greeted at the door by an old fellow with a long white beard and a funny little hat on his head, who ushered them inside to the one house in the hamlet where any pig was absolutely safe from being eaten!  Also, this house was made of stones and no overblown self-important wolf could push it over, let alone blow it over.  So, Mr. Wolf just went home and had oatmeal for dinner and complained to his frau about the missed porkies.

As it happens, Pa Schwein had gone home early, missing his lunch and wanting dinner, so he was fine, if hungry,  and the rutabagas were fine, and the juvenile pigs were fine.  They snuck home later while the wolf was eating oatmeal.  Florence put them to bed early.  But she was secretly very thankful.  And that is the very truth, begorra!

So then, Chag Sameach, my dear friends!