Pignut

Jeff stared up at the tree and scratched his head. How a pig could manage to get up in the branches remained beyond his understanding. “Tell me again how you got up there?”

Had Quentin any fur, he might have bristled. As it was, his smooth, pink skin faintly wobbled in the light. “I told you, I flew. How else would I get up here?”

Jeff scratched his head again. “See, now, you keep saying that. But pigs don’t fly. They can’t ‘cause… you know…” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “They don’t hav...