This is a true story….
Barrel is a pig. Not an ordinary pig, mind you, but a Kune-Kune, a funny word that means “round and fat” in the language of the Maori people of New Zealand, a country very far from Barrel’s home in England. Round and fat? Insulting, indeed, and rude, to say nothing of hurting Barrel’s feelings. He prefers to believe it means “beautiful.” (Although, to be perfectly honest, Barrel is far from beautiful. He has dreadful teeth and truly flat front feet and is desperately overweight.) Poor un-beautiful Barrel.
Barrel lives in “Clump House” in Chitterne, in the county of Wiltshire. Well, he really lives behind Clump House in his own little house in the garden. It’s been his home for ten years. For many of those years, he shared his life and garden with his beloved Artemis, another Kune-Kune. Although she was beautiful to Barrel, Artemis was unkind to him. Not only was she rude and vain, but she simply disappeared one day, leaving Barrel sadly alone in his garden, in his little house, in his little world. Poor un-beautiful, lonely Barrel.
Every day, Barrel looked around his garden at the beauty he can’t share. He missed Artemis. He even missed her rudeness. The people in the big house came out to visit, but he was still lonely. So one day when the garden gate hadn’t been properly latched, he pushed it open and strolled down the path into the village.
There, he saw so many interesting sights and smelled so many interesting smells. There was a lovely green grocer with plump fruit and vegetables in front of the shop. There was a big window with colorful ladies’ hats. There was a store selling brooms and mops and rakes. He stopped at the florist to sniff flowers in buckets. It was so intoxicating to him that he thought he could never return to his lonely garden. He loved this new world.
Although Barrel loved the town, the people in the town didn’t seem to love him at all. They hooted at Barrel and waved their arms and yelled “Shoo,” something he had never heard before, but clearly unfriendly. These people don’t want a pig, even such a beautiful pig in their town.
A man with a blue uniform with shiny buttons and a whistle put a rope around Barrel’s neck and walked him home until finally, reluctantly, Barrel went inside his gate. The man in the blue uniform closed the gate firmly and fixed it with the rope. But Barrel didn’t want to be in his garden any more…alone. He lowered his head and went into his little house and turned his nose to the back wall, feeling very sorry for himself, and went to sleep.
When Barrel awoke the next morning, he heard the usual birds in the trees but he also heard something strange. Very different sorts of bird sounds seemed to be coming from the garden next door on the other side of his wooden fence. He pushed up against the fence and put his eye to a knot hole. He saw young fluffy chooks on the other side of the fence. (“Chook” is a funny British word for a chicken.) They were playing together and running about, pecking the ground, looking for dinner. They were having fun. Barrel gazed at the chooks and longed to play with them, too. Whenever they came near the fence, he shoofed at them through the knot hole, begging them to pay attention to him. But they didn’t seem to notice him. How he longed to play with a friend, too. So, feeling even more alone and sorry for himself than he already was, he lay next to the fence listening to the chooks’ happily chirping and playing next door.
One morning, there was a terrible noise coming from the other side of the fence. He could hear that the neighbor’s spaniel had somehow gotten into the yard and was chasing the chooks. Oh no, Barrel thought, there’s nothing I can do to help them. It was a terrible day for him, but a much worse day for the chooks; the spaniel had made short work of them. Barrel could only look through the fence and despair.
That afternoon, Barrel heard a familiar tiny shrill voice. Did one of the chooks get away from the spaniel? He hurried back to the fence and looked through the knot hole. But he didn’t see anything. The sound wasn’t in the garden next door, it seemed to be coming from the other side of his front gate. He ran as fast as his flat feet would carry him to the gate and peeked through the slats. There was a small wire cage that had been set on the verge of the yard and the last surviving chook was in it all alone. She was peeping and cheeping in a very upset manner. On top of the cage was a hand-lettered sign with two words on it. If he could have read them he would have seen they said, “Free chook.”
He pushed at the gate but it didn’t open. He pushed and pushed again, even hurting his nose. But none of that mattered to him; only rescuing the chook from what must surely be a terrible fate mattered. The gate finally sprang open and Barrel barreled through it, straight to the chook whose tiny black eyes seemed to know why the large pig was there and was unafraid. The chook waited patiently while Barrel beat at the latch of the small cage with one of his flat feet. Finally, the cage popped open and the chook came rushing out. Barrel picked her up gently in his mouth and carried her very carefully back to his garden, behind the gate.
Barrel set the chook down on the grass and they looked at each other. There was so much Barrel wanted to tell this tiny creature, that he was her friend and would take care of her, that he, too, knew what it was to be alone. The chook looked at Barrel, a long, long look. Then, turning, confidently strutted off to find a fresh worm or some stray seeds. Barrel watched as the chook made herself at home…their home.
He smiled his crooked smile because he knew he didn’t have to be alone anymore…and neither did the chook.
…and so, today, the two friends still live happily in their garden, behind Clump House, in the small village of Chitterne, in the county of Wiltshire, in the island country of England.
And they live together…beautifully.
© Dianne West Short 2017
