As Arnold Ziffel awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself
transformed in his bed into a small pig. Looking down, he saw cleft hooves at
the end of his four stout legs. When he lifted his head he saw there were coarse,
white hairs that covered his pale belly.
It
was no dream. Arnold’s room, a regular human bedroom, was still there with its
four walls. The walls were thin; he could hear his father snoring.
Lifting
his snout in the air, Arnold detected the strong smell of coffee; it must still
be early, he thought. Fred Ziffel rose every morning at five, and Doris, his
wife, always had coffee ready.
Not
yet accustomed to having four legs, Arnold stood unsteadily on the bed. He decided
to jump to the floor; landing partway on his head, he cursed his sensitive pig ears.
Arnold?
There
was a knock on the door.
You all right in there?
Arnold?
He
tried to speak, to say anything, to simply say, “Yes”. Instead what came out was
a strangled, squealing sound. Arnold scrambled to hide under the bed as his mother opened the door.
Arnold what in tarnation—ohmygod—Fred!
Fred get in here!
Barefoot,
rubbing his eyes, Fred Ziffel stumbled toward his son's bedroom. What’s all the calamity, he said, and Doris
pointed to the boy who tanned deeply in the summer; their son, who was now a China White.
Fred
and Doris Ziffel were sensible, practical people. They loved their boy but
push will come to shove; the smell of thawing earth, Easter Sunday almost here,
and neither Fred or Doris cared much for the taste of lamb.