Pigs In Paradise. Roger Maxson

at a slow, methodical pace, careful not to become sick or knotted up from eating too much grass too fast and unable to digest. It had been a while and he did not want that. There was a time when things were different when Bruce was different.

      7

      Mating Season

      Bruce watched Blaise as she made her way up the slope. He liked the way she walked, the way her hips switched back and forth, the way her tail swished this way and that way. He loved Blaise, but he also knew across the road and two pastures away the moshavnik Perelman hid the Israeli Holsteins down in a meadow behind the dairy barn and lemon grove. He watched her switch and walk. He watched her walk and switch, her tail waving at him as she grazed in the next pasture. She and Beatrice were near the terraced slopes, where the sheep and goats grazed. In the early morning sunshine, Bruce watched Blaise as she moved across the brown-green pasture, her tail swish-swashing as she strutted off toward the pond.

      Bruce was every bit of 1200-pounds of muscle, a combination of Simmental, and patient, and Zebu or Brahman, and heat tolerant. And although he was tolerant, he was also hot and impatient. All the same, he was noted for his calm, easy-going way and reasonable disposition. He had small thick horns that turned inward from the temples and a white-patched, red face. Even with his docile temperament, his large scrotal size made him a prize on the moshav for breeding, and a grand specimen of a reddish-coated, thick-muscled, Simbrah bull to behold.

      Blaise, although somewhat temperamental on the other hand, an Island Jersey (as opposed to the American Jersey) and 800 pounds, was an object of refinement and beauty, and his affection. She had a smooth unbroken chocolate color pattern in her body, but was a darker chocolate mousse in the hips, about the head, ears, and shoulders. She also had a well-attached udder with small teats, and Bruce knew within a matter of months Blaise would be freshened, her udder and teats laden with milk due to his charm, patience, and spunk.

      Stanley came trotting out of the barn with his tail in the air and the smell of Beatrice in his nostrils. He paraded along the fence past Bruce who ignored him, standing next to the watering tank on the other side.

      “How now, blue-balls cow?” he neighed.

      “Fuck off.”

      Stanley came from a long line of Belgian draft horses who at one time had carried knights into battle and then toiled in the soil shackled to the plow. Once gangling and stout, squared at the shoulders to pull the weight and carry the load, now though, through years of breeding, had become smooth, more rounded at the shoulders, more athletic, and showy. And Stanley was athletic and showy, a black Belgian stallion with only a slender patch of white diamond that went down his long nose.

      “Now, now, bull-cow, you might have a lower hanging pair than me, but when it comes to the rest of it, nothing like this.” Stanley reared back onto his muscular hind legs and jumped. As his massive member bounced, the crowd went wild. Once again, spectators had gathered around the four corners of the pasture, men in their respective place based on religious faith, beliefs, and borders, all of them there to watch the black stallion mount the bay mare, none of them aware that the bay mare might have something to say about it.

      “I’d be careful —” Julius called as he flew over, his under feathers yellow in the sun, and landed on the gate post. “I can’t fly and talk at the same time — if I were you.”

      Stanley snorted, “Even his horns are small.”

      “Notice anything different today, Stanley?” Julius walked up along the fence post to the open gate. “I wouldn’t want to get his dander up if I were you. Nothing is keeping him from Blaise, Beatrice, or you, for that matter.” Julius alighted on Bruce’s hindquarters. Flapping his blue wings, he folded his golden under feathers behind him in a long plumage of tail. “If Bruce wants, Bruce gets. He’ll come over there and take Beatrice from you. If he wants, he’ll come over there and take you.”

      “He can try,” Stanley huffed, “but I’d be too fast for him anyway. End of story.”

      Bruce ignored Stanley mostly, watching him out the right side of his head. “Better move along little doggie,” he said.

      “Stanley, you and Bruce now have full access and your choice of co-habitators. That means nothing is keeping you from Beatrice except Beatrice.”

      “I know that.”

      “Run along, horsey, before you wear yourself out.”

      “Oh, might wear you out.” Stanley trotted off in a huff. “Wear out, huh? Wear you out, you mean,” Stanley said from a safe distance. He saw Beatrice near the pond. She was in the same pasture as him. He ran up alongside her.

      “Why don’t you leave the poor beast alone,” Beatrice said.

      “What? Oh that, nonsense. We’re friends, just a little male rivalry.”

      Julius stretched, flapping his blue-and-gold wings over Bruce’s hindquarters. “This has got to be the finest rump roast I’ve seen. I’d be careful where you shake that thing. The neighbors might covet it.”

      Stanley and Beatrice grazed in the same pasture. Beatrice grazed. Stanley paraded about, showing off his prowess to the roar of the crowd. “Look, Beatrice, the moshavnik opened the gate so we could be together. So, let’s get together. It’s only natural. It’s something we’re supposed to do. Listen, baby, look what you’ve done to me. I can’t walk or think straight with this club foot. It hurts when I do this.” He reared back onto his massive hind legs to wild applause.

      “You, foolish horse,” she said and walked away.

      “Baby, please, you don’t understand. We have an audience, fans we can’t let down. They’re here for me–you, us, for us.”

      Beatrice, exasperated, stopped. “Would you do me a favor?”

      “What is it? Anything for you, baby.”

      “Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?”

      “Someone might have a camera for just this sort of thing, you know. You know, I could be famous, a star! Come on, Beatrice, don’t be shy, please. Please, Beatrice, wait.”

      Beatrice stopped.

      “What? What did I say?”

      “I’m sure whoever has the camera would gladly get you a girl too. I understand in certain communities, probably this one included, some people like just that sort of thing.”

      “Well, yeah, if she’s in a habit.”

      Beatrice turned and walked away. “These people aren’t here for that though. They’re here for me–you, us, I mean.” She went into the next pasture to graze alongside Blaise.

      Blaise said, “How do you do?”

      “I do fine. Thank you for asking.”

      Julius alighted in the branches of the great olive tree where the ravens Ezekiel and Dave were. Along the slopes, a herd of lesser and younger animals grazed along the second-tiered slope of the terraced landscape. Blaise and Beatrice grazed nearby as ducks and geese swam and bathed in the pond near the barn lot as pigs lounged along its muddy banks in the mid-morning sun. Julius moved through the olive tree along one of the lower hanging branches.

      “I interrupt this program to bring you the following announcement.”

      “Wait,” cried a piglet. “What is it this time, the earth’s round?” He pealed with laughter and rolled in the dirt.

      A gaggle of geese gabbed as usual, “The earth’s flat and that’s that.” And with that, the knowledgeable hens turned and waddled off, their heads held high on slender necks.

      “I crack those eggs up every time.”

      “I know,” said a young sheep, but a lamb. “The earth’s round and more than 6000 years old!” The lambs joined the pigs with laughter.

      “For