Anarchist Farm by Jane Doe aka Jan Edwards

Author:Jane Doe aka Jan Edwards [Edwards, Jane Doe aka Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: III Publishing
Published: 2010-06-01T22:00:00+00:00

Pancho and Sabo sat in the corner and shared their thoughts. The reason the meeting went so smoothly and agreeably, the reason the animals were so happy and optimistic, was inexperience. But soon they would have some experience. The pig and cat grasped paw and foot. Pancho looked at Sabo and she said, ‟I really hope this works."

12

Just before the sun rose, Pancho heard the cock crow. ‟I won't miss breakfast today!" he told himself. He stretched and looked around for Sabo cat, but she had gone. ‟Maybe I should start sleeping outside again, like Cave Camp."

Pancho picked his way through the hay bales towards the pinkish light streaming through he cracks of the barn door. Oversleeping seemed like laziness and therefore a character flaw; something he judged harshly in others and felt guilty about himself. A gentle nudge on the doors sent them gliding silently open to reveal the new day. Photographers call it magic hour, when shadows are long and the sun wears rose colored glasses.

Pancho's feet soaked wet with dew as he shuffled towards the meadow. ‟Where is everybody." He hated being left out. ‟What can they be doing at dawn?" He came to the corral fence and hopped through a broken rung. ‟Everything is kept up on this farm but the fences," he noted to himself. On his old farm that was always the first thing fixed. ‟If those dogs had chased me a day later, that escape hole would have been mended." He loved these convoluted thoughts. ‟I wouldn't be here today."

Pancho turned this over in his mind and smiled at the irony: it would have been his own order to plug the hole in the fence that would have prevented his own escape. Just then he reached the top of the small knoll and looked down into the meadow. ‟What in the world is going on down there?" The pig scratched his ear with puzzlement.

At first glance, it appeared to be a flock of sheep being chased around the meadow. First they would run one way, then they would stop. Suddenly, as if one organism, they would run in the opposite direction. Oddly, nothing gave chase. Odder still, when he noticed it: the flock consisted not only of sheep, but of cows and goats, pigs and mules, chickens and, in fact, everyone on the farm. Pancho spotted Goldie right near the center of the crowd. ‟Now that's something," he shook his head, ‟sheep herding a dog."

The retriever caught his eye and wagged her tail ‟good morning" and the pig waived back. Pancho sat on the grassy slope watching the stop and go, twists and turns of the running animals as if he sat in a box seat at the ballet. The choreography was every bit as impressive. Gracefully and powerfully they danced around the pond. A pause, then a sudden dash to the left, revealed a small black member of the corps who missed her cue racing to catch up. ‟Sabo," Pancho blinked, but the mass of racing creatures engulfed her in an ever-tightening circle.

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