Pigs In Paradise. Roger Maxson

since you put it that way, yes.”

      Dave’s feathers were ruffled. He shook his head. He turned to Ezekiel and said, “Give them something to think with and this is what you get.”

      “Ignore these animals, Julius,” Blaise said. “What is the announcement you wish to make?”

      “Pete Seeger is my hero. Where I come from, he was everyone’s hero until they turned orthodox and emigrated to Brooklyn.”

      “And I suppose you’d like a hammer?”

      “And, yes, I suppose I would.”

      “You’re a bird,” Beatrice said, “a parrot. What can you do with a hammer?”

      “I have claws, and I’m not afraid to use them. I use paintbrushes, don’t I?”

      “How would anyone know what you do with them? No one’s seen anything you do.”

      “I’m shy, a work in progress.”

      “Julius, what would you do if you had a hammer, a smallish hammer if you like?”

      “Blaise, ‘if I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning. I’d hammer in the evening, all over this land. I’d hammer out warning. I’d hammer out danger. I’d hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters, all over this land.’ If only I had a hammer?”

      “Well, will someone please get this busy macaw a hammer?”

      “We’re animals. How can we get him a hammer?”

      “Where are those ravens when you need them?” Julius said. “Oh, there you are. Never mind, I don’t need a hammer.” Julius left the tree branch and perched on Blaise’s left shoulder, near her ear. “Although he may not show it, not like Stanley anyway, Bruce has great desire. He’s fond of you. You’ll see,” Julius said and winked. Blaise was unable to see him wink. She didn’t need to. She knew from the inflection in his voice.

      “What are you, Julius, his agent, I suppose?”

      “He’s a friend. Besides, everyone needs love. Everyone needs a friend.”

      “Yes, well, Julius, I’m quite aware of Bruce’s proclivities, thank you very much.”

      “Proclivities,” Julius said to the ravens in the olive tree. “She’s from England, you know. She even has an island named after her. It’s called Blaise.”

      “Yes, well, there’s a Guernsey somewhere with an island named after her as well, so don’t think too much of it. And it’s not Blaise, you silly bird.”

      “Modest, too, wouldn’t you say?”

      “Thank goodness Bruce isn’t a show-off like Manly Stanley,” said Beatrice.

      “Yes, he’s more like me in that respect,” Julius said. “We’re more reserved and less showy.”

      “More like you, less showy, you don’t say?”

      “That’s not to say we don’t have something to crow about, we just prefer not to.”

      Beatrice nudged Blaise, and they laughed.

      Julius flapped his great wings and flew off to rejoin Bruce grazing in the middle of the pasture behind the barn. He landed on the great beast’s backside and made his way along his right shoulder.

      “Watch those claws, and whatever you have to say, speak softly if you’re going to sit there all day, spouting off.”

      “Yes, we wouldn’t want the mule’s spies overhearing anything we might say either.”

      “He’s an asshole.”

      “Yes, I agree, and everyone has one. I have one. You have one. People have them, too, everyone, assholes. What they,” Julius said, “those made in God’s image, prefer to call a soul.”

      “Whatever you call it, it’s still an asshole and he’s full of shit.”

      “I’m going to have to ratchet it up with the mule. I need to make that old mule a mule.”

      “Why bother?”

      “If only one animal hears me and sees through this nonsense, well, then, I’ll feel that I’ve done some good.”

      “They’re animals, domesticated farm animals. They need to believe in something and follow someone.”

      “Well, then, why not you?” Julius said.

      “I like Howard,” Bruce said. “He’s a better alternative to the mule, but cerebral loses out to the meaty flesh of sin and shit.”

      “I like him, too, but like his mulish rival, he is a celibate. No flocking for that boar, which makes him quite the bore, and just as the old mule can’t, that boar won’t. All for a good cause, of course, nothing,” Julius said.

      Bruce leaned down to graze and Julius almost tumbled off.

      “Careful, wish you’d warn me next time you do that, the nerve.” Julius climbed up along Bruce’s backside, lest he lost his balance and had to fly off, but Julius wasn’t going anywhere.

      “From what I saw, you’re losing the battle for assholes.”

      “They’re young. They’re impressionable,” Julius said, “but if not me, then who?”

      Bruce turned and raised his tail and defecated, a large warm mound of bullshit formed behind him as he moved away.

      “A penny for your thoughts,” Julius said. “Yo, dude, that is some deep shit, man. Seriously, though, your timing is impeccable. What economy of words! What clarity! You’ve certainly proven Edward De Vere correct who wrote, ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.’”

      Bruce was chewing his cud, “Who?”

      “Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford.”

      “Whatever.”

      “And by the size of that mound, Wit large.” Julius bounded along Bruce’s backbone to his shoulders. “Do you know why God gave man thumbs? So, he could pick up our shit.”

      “I don’t believe you believe in God.”

      “I don’t believe the joke would have worked as well.”

      “What joke?”

      * * *

      That night while most people were tucked away in their beds asleep, the bay mare, on the other hand, nuzzled up against the black Belgian Stallion in the barn lot, running her nose up along his great neck. Stanley neighed and shook his mane and stamped his feet. Beatrice stepped in front of Stanley and pushed against him, pushing against his smooth, rounded barrel chest. Without an audience in attendance, Manly Stanley snorted, and reared back onto his muscular hind legs, and covered Beatrice in the moonlight.

      8

      Wonderful Today

      Stanley and Beatrice grazed together as the sun came up around them. Bruce and Blaise grazed nearby. All four animals demonstrated voracious appetites to the dismay of those who had gathered around to see the live, mating-season show. Disheartened, they, the Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike, all went their separate ways, in different directions to their homes and locations.

      “Well, hello, Beatrice, how do you do?”

      “Hello, Blaise of Jersey, I do fine, thank you. So nice of you to ask, though.” Beatrice smiled, “And, how are you?”

      “I’m well, thank you. I’m wonderfully well.”

      “Yes, the sun has given you such a nice color.”

      “Thank you for noticing,” Blaise said, and smiled at her friend. “Isn’t it a gloriously lovely day?”

      “Yes,