“All the arasaw you could dream of.”
Buchukoy snorted. In spite of the calm demeanor he tried to maintain, his wagging tail betrayed the excitement brought about by the thought of limitless pig-feed. Inside his solitary pen stood the ghosts of his former mates, Butoy, Bonbon, and Botog. A glowing aura of holy light blanketed the three other hogs who had seemingly materialized from thin air.
“Hang on a second,” Buchukoy began, “did you say, all the arasaw I could dream of?”
“I don’t think I stuttered dear Butch,” replied Butoy, his transparent ears standing on end. A trail of pixie dust tailed his every move as he paced around the 5×5 foot enclosure. “All the arasaw indeed.”
Botog, the second pig, inched in closer and whispered, “Imagine this. Every meal time, a bell rings. And we all wait for a giant orange pail that appears from the clouds and- and- and pours forth all its bounty into the… the… uhm, what’s it called…”
“The trough!” squealed Butoy, the smallest of the three. “The Orange Pail of Endless Arasaw dumps everything there for us. All the favorites too! Tomatoes, rice, bones…”
“Potatoes.”
“Carrots.”
“Lettuce.”
Buchukoy’s mouth watered. “Lettuce, you say?”
“Oh yes, the greenest ones you’ll ever see.”
“Juicy, juicy stuff.”
“The old ‘hog grower feeds’ don’t even come close.”
The three spirit pigs shudder at the mention of the term, shaking free glowing specks of fairy dust that drift gently to the ground.
“I must say, I do love me some juicy lettuce,” admitted Buchukoy as he closed his eyes and licked his snout in imaginative satisfaction. “By golly, that does sound like one heck of a place, guys!”
“Yes it is!” oinked the three visiting swine in chorus, rainbow halos spinning above their porcine heads as they waddled about their old friend.
“And oh! I nearly forgot,” said Bonbon with a snort, “THE PENS UP THERE ARE ACTUALLY CLEAN!”
“Whaaa-” Buchukoy’s jaw dropped. “N-n-not muddy?”
“No, not muddy. Not stinky. Not dirty at all.”
Buchukoy smiled. Clean pens sure seemed like something out of a dream, and knowing his old friends now lived in them made him glad.
“We’re pretty happy there Buchukoy.” said Butoy with a reassuring snort, “You don’t need to worry about us, you know…”
“I know.” Buchukoy sighed, “It’s just that when I heard you all screaming as they took you away…”
“Heck, we were only screaming because we were so very excited to be sent there!”
“But weren’t you guys turned into…” Buchukoy’s voice faded.
“Into what, Butch?”
Buchukoy swallowed hard and allowed the most dreaded words escape his hairy snout.
“…Wat-wat?”
“Hush Buchukoy!” exclaimed Botog. “That word shan’t be spoken of here!” The shock had made the rainbow halo above his head spin out of control, and fly off into the sky. In its stead appeared another glimmering halo, this time a miniature model of the solar system.
“No, we weren’t turned into watwat, Butch.” explained Bonbon calmly, “That’s crazy talk. Let me ask you, do any of us look boiled and salted?”
“…No.”
“See? So there’s no need to worry old chum!”
A fuzzy warmth spread across Buchukoy’s chest as he took a deep breath. His eyes began to droop just as the world begun to spin. “I guess you guys are right. Thanks for visiting me Butoy, Bonbon, and Botog.”
“You’re very welcome old Butchy! There’s really nothing to fear!” the trio squeal in unison. One snort later and the visiting apparitions had disappeared in a puff of pink smoke, leaving Buchukoy alone—out cold and asleep.
Meanwhile, up in the main house, the farmer scolds his son for gathering the wrong kind of mushrooms again. These will give us a bad headache, he lectures.
“Feed it to the pig again,” he says.
“Feed it to the pig, like you did earlier.”
Copyright © 2018 Cousin from Baguio