Dick King-Smith - The Sheep-Pig

I nearly said "there's a good pup" she thought. Whatever next!

In fact, in the days that followed, Babe became so doglike, what with coming when Fly came and sitting when Fly sat and much preferring dog's food to anything else he was offered, that Farmer Hogget caught himself half expecting, when he patted the piglet, that it would wag its tail. He would not have been surprised if it had tried to accompany Fly when he called her to go with him on his morning rounds, but it had stayed in the stables, playing with the puppies.

"You stop with the boys, Babe", Fly had said, "while I see to the sheep. I shan't be long".

"What's sheep?" the piglet said when she had gone.

The puppies rolled about in the straw.

"Don't you know that, you silly Babe?" said one.

"Sheep are animals with thick woolly coats".

"And thick wooly heads".

"And men can't look after them without the help of the likes of us", said the fourth.

"Why do they need you?" said Babe.

"Because we're sheep-dogs!" they all cried together, and ran off up the yard.

Babe thought about this matter of sheep and sheep-dogs a good deal during the first couple of weeks of his life on the Hoggets' farm. In that time Fly's puppies, now old enough to leave home, had been advertised for sale, and Fly was anxious to teach them all she could before they went out into the world. Daily she made them practise on the ducks, while Babe sat beside her and watched with interest. And daily their skills improved and the ducks lost weight and patience.

Then there came, one after another, four farmers, four tall long-legged men who smelt of sheep. And each picked his puppy and paid his money, while Fly sat and watched her children leave to start their working life.

As always, she felt a pang to see each go, but this time, after the last had left, she was not alone.

"It's nice, dear", she said to Babe. "I've still got you".

But not for all that long, she thought. Poor little chap, in six months or so he'll be fit to kill. At least he doesn't know it. She looked fondly at him, this foster-child that now called her "Mum". He had picked it up, naturally enough, from the puppies, but it pleased her to hear it, now more than ever.

"Mum", said Babe.

"Yes, dear?"

"They've gone off to work sheep, haven't they?"

"Yes, dear".

"Because they're sheep-dogs. Like you. You're useful to the boss, aren't you, because you're a sheep-dog?"

"Yes, dear".

"Well, Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Why can't I learn to be a sheep-pig?"

Chapter 4

"You'm a polite young chap"

After the last of the puppies had left, the ducks heaved a general sigh of relief. They looked forward to a peaceful day and paid no attention when, the following morning, Fly and Babe came down to the pond and sat and watched them as they squattered and splattered in its soupy green depths. They knew that the old dog would not bother them, and they took no notice of the strange creature at her side.

"They'll come out and walk up the yard in a minute", said Fly. "Then you can have a go at fetching them back, if you like".

"Oh yes please!" said Babe excitedly.

The collie bitch looked fondly at her foster-child. Sheep-pig indeed, she thought, the idea of it! The mere sight of him would probably send the flock into the next county. Anyway he'd never get near them on those little short legs. Let him play with the ducks for a day or two and he'd forget all about it.

When the ducks did come up out of the water and marched noisily past the piglet, she half expected him to chase after them, as the puppies usually did at first; but he sat very still, his ears cocked, watching her.

"All right", said Fly. "Let's see how you get on. Now then, first thing is, you've got to get behind them, just like I have to with the sheep. If the boss wants me to go round the right side of them (that's the side by the stables there), he says "Away to me". If he wants me to go round the left (that's the side by the Dutch barn), he says "Come by". O.k.?"

"Yes, Mum".

"Right then. Away to me, Babe!" said Fly sharply.

At first, not surprisingly, Babe's efforts met with little success. There were no problems with getting round the ducks - even with his curious little see-sawing canter he was much faster than they - but the business of bringing the whole flock back to Fly was not, he found, at all easy. Either he pressed them too hard and they broke up and fluttered all over the place, or he was too gentle and held back, and they waddled away in twos and threes.

"Come and have a rest, dear", called Fly after a while. "Leave the silly things alone, they're not worth upsetting yourself about".

"I'm not upset, Mum", said Babe. "Just puzzled. I mean, I told them what I wanted them to do but they didn't take any notice of me. Why not?"

Because you weren't born to it, thought Fly. You haven't got the instinct to dominate them, to make them do what you want.

"It's early days yet, Babe dear", she said.

"Do you suppose", said Babe, "that if I asked them politely..."

"Asked them politely! What an idea! Just imagine me doing that with the sheep - "please will you go through that gateway", "would you kindly walk into that pen?"' Oh no, dear, you'd never get anywhere that way. You've got to tell 'em what to do, doesn't matter whether it's ducks or sheep. They're stupid and dogs are intelligent, that's what you have to remember".

"But I'm a pig".

"Pigs are intelligent too", said Fly firmly. Ask them politely, she thought, whatever next! What happened next, later that morning in fact, was that Babe met his first sheep.

Farmer Hogget and Fly had been out round the flock, and when they returned Fly was driving before her an old lame ewe, which they penned in the loose-box where the piglet had originally been shut. Then they went away up the hill again.

Babe made his way into the stables, curious to meet this, the first of the animals that he planned one day to work with, but he could not see into the box. He snuffled under the bottom of the door, and from inside there came a cough and the sharp stamp of a foot, and then the sound of a hoarse complaining voice. "Wolves! Wolves!" it said. "They do never leave a body alone. Nag, nag, nag all day long, go here, go there, do this, do that. What d'you want now? Can't you give us a bit of peace, wolf?"

"I'm not a wolf", said Babe under the door.

"Oh, I knows all that", said the sheep sourly. "Calls yourself a sheep-dog, I knows that, but you don't fool none of us. You're a wolf like the rest of 'em, given half a chance. You looks at us, and you sees lamb-chops. Go away, wolf".

"But I'm not a sheep-dog either", said Babe, and he scrambled up the stack of straw bales and looked over the bars.

"You see?" he said.

"Well I'll be dipped", said the old sheep, peering up at him, "no more you ain't. What are you?"

"Pig", said Babe. "Large White. What are you?"

"Ewe", said the sheep.

"No, not me, you - what are you?"

"I'm a ewe".

Mum was right, thought Babe, they certainly are stupid. But if I'm going to learn how to be a sheep-pig I must try to understand them, and this might be a good chance. Perhaps I could make a friend of this one.

"My name's Babe", he said in a jolly voice. "What's yours?"

"Maaaaa", said the sheep.

"That's a nice name", said Babe. "What's the matter with you, Ma?"

"Foot-rot", said the sheep, holding up a foreleg. "And I've got a nasty cough". She coughed. "And I'm not as young as I was".

"You don't look very old to me", said Babe politely.

A look of pleasure came over the sheep's mournful face, and she lay down in the straw.

"Very civil of you to say so", she said. "First kind word I've had since I were a little lamb", and she belched loudly and began to chew a mouthful of cud. Though he did not quite know why, Babe said nothing to Fly of his conversation with Ma. Farmer Hogget had treated the sheep's foot and tipped a drench down its protesting throat, and now, as darkness fell, dog and pig lay side by side, their rest only occasionally disturbed by a rustling from the next-door box. Having at last set eyes on a sheep, Babe's dreams were immediately filled with the creatures, all lame, all coughing, all, like the ducks, scattering wildly before his attempts to round them up.