“Sure …” Benjamin saw how fat the short, black pig really was. “…I think.” He bent over and took a few seconds to figure out the best place to grab on.

“Grab him by the tail, Your Majesty,” the goat grinned.

“No, don’t! It’ll pull off! It’ll pull off!” The black wiry tail flicked back and forth.

Benjamin’s hands tightly grabbed the pig’s hind legs. “Ready, Clementine?”

“Yes! Oh heavens, yes!”

One big tug and the pig was jerked free. “Aaaagh!” Clementine sat in shock, eyes closed. He was afraid to move and agitate all the thorns stuck in him. “Aaaagh!”

“What are you screaming about?”

Paco asked him. “Paco, are you blind? I have a million thorns stuck in me!”

Benjamin leaned down and pulled a thorn from the back of the pig’s bulky neck. “Got it!” He held the tiny thorn up to the pig’s face.

“There, there. Was that so bad, little piggy?” Roscoe teased. Clementine looked up at the three grinning faces. “You don’t… you don’t know the pain and suffering–”

The ground started to rumble softly, then shake under their feet.

“Shhh! Be quiet!” Paco’s ears shot up and his eyes darted around them. “Do you feel that?” The shaking and rumbling grew stronger.

“What is it?” Roscoe asked.

Benjamin couldn’t see past the surrounding thorn bushes. Somewhere far behind they heard a faint, high-pitched “whoop, whoop, whoop!” They looked at each other in fear and confusion. The sounds quickly got closer as the ground vibrated below their feet, paws, and hooves. Benjamin saw a brown and black blur move behind a nearby bush. He focused on the end of the thorn bush.

“Whoop, whoop, whoop!”

The pig gasped and moved closer to the goat. “What kind of sound is that?” he asked fearfully.

“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out,” Benjamin said as the trampling violently shook the ground. Dust rose in the air above the thorn bushes. There was no place to hide.

Roscoe’s jaw dropped. “Whoa!”

A thundering herd of large, hairy wild goats stormed around the bush and raced toward them.

Clementine gulped. “Roscoe, I hope these are your long lost friendly cousins.”

The four huddled with their backs to one another as the herd of goats circled them, continuing the strange whooping noises. The goats stopped and stared at them.

Benjamin’s head bobbed up and down as he counted them. “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight…there’s thirty-nine of ‘em!”

“Try talking to them, Roscoe,” Paco said.

Roscoe swallowed and stared at the intimidating herd. They were much larger than he was and, from the looks of it, much stronger. All of them had massive curling horns and wild, shaggy hair in assorted colors of brown, white, gray, and black.

Roscoe took a deep breath and moved one hoof forward. “My name is–”

“WHOOP!” a goat yelled.