Thanks to Scoot for the prompt.

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The Pig, the Jay, and Rosie

When she unlocked her door, home finally from work, a pig was lying across her sofa. Not a magic pig, or a talking pig, or even a particularly wise pig, just your everyday, runny-nosed pig. The pig’s legs and belly were brown with dried mud, its uppers a baby’s-butt pink.

What’s this? she said to her dog. Her dog, Rosie, was lying beneath the dining room table. In her dog’s eyes was a sleepy, philosophic resignation, as if to say, I’ve been moved out of my usual spot on the couch.

She, Lindsey, Lindsey “Red River” Hogg, approached the pig. How did you get in here? she said. The apartment was on the third floor, the window to the fire escape was closed, there was little sense of the pig’s having broken in.

The pig lifted its head. Small pig noises came from what seemed the pig’s throat. Its wildly pink nose delicately quivered, offering what Lindsay took as its sensible account. The pig batted its lashes and set its head back on the cushion.

Lindsay was hungry. She’d worked for 10 hours without hardly a break. The pig, whatever it was doing in her apartment, would have to wait, the low-glucose tremors trembling her legs. She made a hotdog with mustard and relish.

As she sat in the chair by the window, the pig watched her eat. Rosie too, from her spot beneath the table, watched as she ate. A blue jay, perched on the fire escape railing outside, watched her as well. 

When she was finished, Lindsay returned to the kitchen. Two more hotdogs: one for her, half each for the pig and for Rosie.

She said to the jay at the window, I’m not letting you in. Things are baffling enough without you baffling them further. 

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