Why do people say men are pigs? Pigs are smart. Check out this new funny story from Nancy Brown about a pig named Piffle who is trying to understand human behavior. Nancy is a writer in her 60's hoping to set the world on fire.

My name is Piffle. I’m a pig. I know it’s a stupid name but I forgive Mandy for naming me that dumb name because she is only five and she didn’t know what it means. If you look it up in the dictionary, Piffle means foolish. She probably doesn’t even know she gave me a name with a real meaning.

I was born here on the farm and grew up with Cal and Sue and Mandy, and I learned real fast that everything around here has a name. They even call their tractor John. The back field is called Corn. Though, I’ve heard them say that they were having corn on the cob for dinner, so I am not sure if its name is Corn or Cob.

It's ridiculous if you ask me but I’m not one to complain about petty stuff like that. After all, they feed me so well that I shouldn’t complain about anything.

Just the same, it’s hard being a pig. I mean these humans have a habit of calling other humans pigs when they don’t look or act nothing like me. I heard Sue call Cal a pig when she was leaning over the railing feeding us and he snuck up behind her, so I’m not sure about this name game.

It was fine when I was a piglet. Mandy would hold me in her hands and I would wiggle and she would giggle and say I was so cute. However, that was a long time ago, and I couldn’t wiggle even if I wanted to because I’ve gotten so disgustingly gross and fat that I can hardly move.

The county fair is coming up and I know I am not going to fit in that tutu they made me last year. I am not even sure I can prance around like I did in front of all those people who were oohing and awing. I’d be just too embarrassed, with all this weight I’ve gained.

I’m feeling frustrated, over-stuffed, extremely miserable, and I’m not sure what’s going on but a guy came over the other day and took one look at me and told Cal I was in my prime and ready to go. I oinked at him. She’ll dress well he said so I guess I am getting a new tutu after all. He also said something about a big house so maybe after the fair I’ll be moving in with Mandy. I hate living here in this stall with Hammy and Feeble and Munch. It’s so crowded.

Besides, Hammy pays no attention to me now that he’s had his way with me. I think he fathered my eight piglets but I am not sure. It might have been Munch but it doesn’t matter either way because he doesn’t pay me no mind either.

Cal come and sticks a pitchfork in my hind-end and tells me to get moving. Guess it’s time to get dressed.




Photo by Fabian Blank on Unsplash, edited by David Gregory.