By Eleanor Buffam
The ground was cool and soothing to the young pig’s snout as he rooted under the old oak tree.
Ah, this is the life! he thought contentedly.
Every once in a while he came across a tasty acorn, which he ate with much relish and satisfied snorts.
Horse wandered over in the afternoon from her pasture in the adjoining meadow. Resting her head on the top of the fence, she watched Pig rooting for several minutes before clearing her throat and announcing her presence.
“Ahem.”
“Horse!” said Pig, trotting over to welcome his friend. “Don’t you find the weather delightful today! Just think, I have eaten over two dozen acorns, and I believe I am close to finding a truffle! How are you, friend Horse? Your pasture looks absolutely scrumptious. That is… well. If one prefers grass, of course. Which you do!”
He smiled widely at his friend, and his little curly tail wagged with contentment.
Horse shook her head sadly.
“Friend Pig, I’m afraid we don’t have it as good as all that, you know.”
Pig looked up at her in confusion.
“I’ve just been on Social Media, you see,” explained Horse, holding up a small rectangular object.
“What on Earth is Social Media?” wondered Pig, trotting up to the fence to get a proper look.
“It’s the very latest in technology you see.” Horse turned the screen towards Pig, placing the phone on the ground and swiping with one hoof. “You know Arabella, that prize Arabian down the road?”
“Prize Arabian?”
Pig felt out of his depth. He knew Arabella of course. She’d always been a very pleasant horse, and certainly she was a beautiful sight with her muscled body and long white mane. Did that make her a prize Arabian?
“Prize Arabian, Pig! Come on! She’s won every prize!”
“Has she?” wondered Pig.
“Oh, she has. And just look what she has to eat, every day!”
Horse clicked on a picture of a steaming pile of oats.
“Porridge! Porridge with milk and honey! And here’s me with just grass.”
Pig felt very sorry for his friend.
“And that’s not all,” continued Horse in a very despondent tone of voice, “You should see what the pigs over the hill are eating.”
“Acorns?”
“Acorns! Oh, Pig. Only you would be satisfied with just acorns, all day long!”
“What do you mean? I love acorns!” But Pig felt more and more dissatisfied with his life the longer he stared at the tiny screen.
“Look!” said Horse in despair as she pulled up another picture. “They’re eating nothing but the very finest truffles, all day long!”
“Oh!” Pig snorted, this time in a very gloomy manner indeed. “Those pigs get truffles, and I get nothing but acorns! It’s not fair! It’s not right!”
“No.” Horse kept scrolling. “Look at this! That stallion in the next town over, look at the lovely bubble bath he’s having! Every single day, according to this! Every single day!”
Pig had had enough.
“Let me see that technology,” he said.
“Look! Just look!” wailed Horse, handing the phone to him.
Pig took the phone in his snout and trotted away across the paddock.
“Pig! Pig! Where are you going!” She watched her friend anxiously as he trotted out of sight.
Pig returned several minutes later, smiling.
“I’ve tossed that technology into the river, Horse.”
“Oh!”
She was angry at first, and tossed her mane to and fro.
But eventually, feeling the summer sun on her back, and seeing the butterflies frolic, her mood changed.
“I’m sorry I destroyed your technology, Horse.”
“Oh, Pig! Don’t you worry about that! Just look how beautiful my meadow is!”
Pig grew hopeful. “Do you really think so, Horse?”
“Oh yes! Look at all this delicious grass I have to eat! And you! Just look at your wallow. Why there must be loads of acorns waiting to be snuffled out by that majestic snout of yours. And I bet there’s a truffle in there somewhere!”
“Bound to be, Horse! Bound to be!”
With renewed hope and vigour, Pig lowered his snout to the ground and was soon rooting away as happy as can be.
Eleanor Buffam is an interdisciplinary visual artist, writer, and musician based in Leith, Edinburgh. She has published short fiction in Fifty Word Stories and Inlandia Journal, and a commissioned essay on Neuk Collective’s website. You can find her on Instagram and Substack: @EleanorBuffam.
