Once upon a time, a humble sow owned twelve hundred acres.
She was salt of the earth. No ham about her. Everyone said so, especially the animals who wanted something signed.
The sow was blind and used a wheelchair. Part of one foot was missing, but her determination was whole.
“They’ll carry me out feet first before I let them build that evil on my land,” she told the television rooster.
Someone had offered to buy her farm. Nobody would say exactly who. It was believed to be a company that intended to build a great humming shed where machines would learn to think.
The rooster stood beside her beneath a flag that said DON’T TREAD ON ME.
“Have you spoken to the company?”
“I told them no.”
“Which company?”
“The one I told no. Non disclosure. I know who it was though.”
By evening, her refusal had been watched internationally.
A committee invited her to a political event. They wheeled her onto the stage beneath a banner reading BOSS HOG BUILDS THE FUTURE.
Boss Hog had recently explained that animals who opposed the humming sheds were backward and would remain poor.
The rooster asked how she felt about that.
The sow laughed.
“Well, I’m backward and poor, and proud of it!”
The audience erupted.
Here was an animal who could not be bought.
The campaign immediately put her on a donation page.
“I’m a humble sow,” she continued. “My family has worked that land for generations. They’ll carry me out in a box before I sell.”
“THAT’S RIGHT!” squealed the piglets.
Behind her, a campaign assistant quietly moved a model of the proposed humming shed out of the photograph.
“Do you still support Boss Hog?” asked the rooster.
“Of course. He tells it like it is.”
“And when he called you backward?”
“I told him like it is!”
More applause. That was the real deal. No messing around with fancy words. Realness.
Up in the booth, two impeccably groomed boars watched the audience.
“Is she supporting him or opposing him?”
The senior boar checked the donation counter.
“Yes.”
Below, the piglets waved their flags.
“WE ARE WINNING!”
“WEAK SHEEP!”
“STUPID SHEEP!”
The sheep were in the adjoining field, eating grass. Several were discussing a vacation.
At the troughs, the sows continued eating.
“I don’t approve of that language,” said one.
“Nor do I,” said another.
“Are we polling better?”
“Considerably.”
“Well. You can’t control every piglet.”
“No we can not. It is what it is.”
The feed had deteriorated again. There had once been apples in it. Now there were apple-flavored pellets, although a small notice explained that the flavor was aspirational.
One sow raised the matter with an attendant.
“Would you prefer the sheep to have your portion?”
She lowered her snout.
That afternoon, a piglet was discovered behind the feed shed reading a book of sheep stories.
His mother snatched it away.
“Thou shalt not debase thyself by imagining sheep can speak or act morally. We are the chosen people. We help them appear moral as they can. But they are just like pets. Not like us. We choose our ways. THEY just mimic our ways.”
“But this one helps a lamb find its mother.”
“Sympathy. Emotions. That is how they get you.”
The book was burned beside the troughs. A campaign photographer captured the flames beneath a banner celebrating freedom.
The humble sow returned to her twelve hundred acres with a certificate of courage, a commemorative flag, and an assurance that her voice had been heard.
No sale had occurred. No humming shed had been built. No one had established who had made the offer.
Nevertheless, there had been a tremendous victory.
The rooster won an award for covering it.
The local boar won his election by promising to protect animals like her.
Boss Hog secured permission to build a humming shed in the next county, where the residents were described as unwilling to embrace the future.
The sow listened to the report at home.
“Some animals just won’t accept progress,” she said.
Then she asked her granddaughter to check that the flag was still flying.
It was.
Beyond it lay twelve hundred acres, undisturbed.
On the campaign website, her photograph appeared above two buttons.
HELP US STAND WITH BOSS HOG.
HELP US STAND UP TO BIG TECH.
Both went to the same account.
No one pointed out that both accounts led to the same end.
No one talked about how they were being used whether they were a sow, a piglet, or sheep.
No one talked about how the game was rigged toward one end.
The humming farms would come. No one would stand up for long, just like the dams that flooded the valleys, and the railroads and more. No one talked about the unmarked graves all the progress was built upon.
No one ever stopped progress.
Delayed it. Maybe.
But eventually, the boss hogs got their way.
With the help of the sows.
Both accounts were true.
The humming sheds came to the next county first.
Then the power lines crossed hers. The creek was diverted. The road was widened. The night acquired a permanent glow.
Her twelve hundred acres remained hers.
“They’ll carry me out in a box,” she reminded the rooster when he returned. “Feet first!”
He asked her sister to move the sow’s chair a little. There was a humming shed behind her, spoiling the shot.
At the next election, she voted to protect her way of life.
Boss Hog thanked her for helping build the future.
Then she died. And her sister died.
And he bought the land for cheap just to have it.
He did nothing with it.
He didn’t have to.
