What's For Dinner

By Cindy Carrier 

(300 word drabble)


“You ain’t gonna get him thataway,” Jelly complained from his perch on the fence rail as the dust and grunts and frantic squeals rose up into the clogged and dusty air.  “One of you hasta pin him down in a corner so’s the other can jump on him.” 

“When did you become such an expert on husbandry?” Scott huffed up to him, wiping a thick coating of dust from his shirtfront.

“Yeah,” jeered Johnny, climbing to his knees.  “If you’re so smart then you get in here. Scott, there he goes – get him!”

Jelly thrust his thumbs into his braces and straightened.  “Don’t have to,” he sniffed.  “Teresa put me in charge  - that lets me give you pointers on what you’re doing wrong.”

“You might try his suggestions,” Teresa inserted loudly from the other side of the fence.  “You’ve been at it almost an hour now.”

“For you, Teresa, only for you,” Scott declared with a smile, diving to the ground again.

“You got him!” Jelly whooped, nearly losing his balance in his excitement.  “Now, Johnny, grab him – don’t let go!”

“He’s cussed slippery!” Johnny shouted, wrapping both hands about a cloven hoof.  “Ouch!  He kicked me!”

“Just what is going on out here?” Murdoch joined Teresa at the rail.  “You can hear the noise all the way to the house.”  He stared at the kicking, sweating, grunting, screaming scene going on inside the fence.  “Just what…?

“Murdoch, I’ve asked and asked for something else besides beef for dinner,” Teresa reminded him.  “And I’m not going to wait any longer.”

“And so…?” Murdoch continued to watch his extremely dirty sons struggling inside the pen.

“And so,” Teresa declared, gesturing at Scott and Johnny now scrabbling deep in a wallow of mud.  “They are wrestling a pig.”



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