chapter 7 - quality time

The “Incident at the Festival” prompted an emergency meeting where the council ruled unanimously that the Town Pig be bathed at least three times a week and that the people be advised to wear a face covering while out in public. The next day, two people came by the barn to install a showerhead and walk-in oversized bathtub.

Another change was its food was now being loaded into a metal container outside. People still had to observe its grotesqueness–the snorts, gas, and belching; its rolls and rolls of blubber and fat melting its shape; the slob’s abomination of an existence. The masks helped, but if they had a choice, they’d rather not come around at all. From the container, it'd be pumped into pipes and dumper into its trough. They’d inevitably see it splash chunks in every direction as its head could no longer be seen.

No one held Beth to blame. In fact, she was the most revered person in town; she was the perfect Baker, the perfect neighbor, the perfect contributor to society. They admired her for her dedication to her Role and their survival. They admired her for bearing the burden of having to tolerate that sludge.

She was the ideal citizen, in complete contrast to her sow.

A handful of big blue ribbons hung on the back wall. The scale on the right wall had been moved and installed flush with the ground. The white board was gone, replaced with a two by three foot screen hanging from the ceiling.

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“Sow, come over here, I have something to show you,” Beth said, legs crossed, sitting in her usual chair.

The sow could no longer practically walk on all fours; her belly sagged too low. It was too wide, and its rolls caused too much traction, despite its smooth softness. The hog was mostly moved into town on a motorized chair, although when Beth often forced her to walk, she’d tie rope to its collar and force it to walk out to the square.

Licking the trough clean as best it could, it lifted its head over and out of the side. It was at this point the hog was at a loss on how to stand. It looked at Beth and whimpered like a puppy.

“I’m not helping, heifer. Now hurry over.”

It closed its eyes and concentrated as much as it was still capable of doing so It grabbed the side of the trough for support, but the wood was not strong enough and it fell to the side, taking the sow down, too.

Huff. Huff.

Huff Huff Huff. Huff.

It delayed, panting tin as much oxygen its lungs could, but it took several minutes to get over the burning. Beth waited, not breaking her gaze as the hog rocked back and forth. Momentum slowly came to it, and it managed to sit on its butt, its pudgy hands and fingers desperately grasping onto a post. The sweat drenching its hands ‘would not allow it to maintain a grip, causing it to crash into the floor multiple times, expelling gas up and down.

Beth smirked. In a small act of mercy, she lifted it up and guided it to the bed. It didn’t notice the long tube extending from a tank in the rafters. The milking machine, however, was expected.

“I need some more from you today, but after I hook this up, I want you to try out your new present!”

She slid the mouthpiece between her teeth and flipped a switch. It sucked the liquid from the tube, and the humming of the pump released all tension and pressure in its body to create more room.

Beth filled a glass bottle, then disconnected the machine. She joined the sow in eating, spreading its legs apart. The hog moaned and swallowed, moaned and swallowed, vibrating in jerking motions until

Mmmmmpphh MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPHH

MmmmMMMMMpphMMMMMMM MMM

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

Beth crawled into bed and rested her arm across its rolls of belly to cuddle. Smeared red lipstick surrounded its nipples, suckling.