“Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“It has to, Babe,” Wilbur reassured. “Or do I have to remind you what happened to our brother?”

Months earlier, the blood feud between the families of the three little pigs and wolf pack reached a dangerous level.

After huffing and puffing, the big, bad wolf successfully destroyed two of the pig’s houses; one made of straw, the other of sticks. When he came upon Wilbur’s home, however, the wolf failed to knock the structure over. It was made with bricks. His inability to blow the house down infuriated the wolf. He scampered onto the roof dressed as Santa Claus and slid down the chimney in a surprise attack. Instead of finding stockings hung by the chimney with care, the wolf plopped into a cauldron of boiling water and died.

That’s when the idea first popped into Wilbur’s head.

Even though his siblings hadn’t listened to his advice about constructing their homes out of durable materials, at least each insured his property. Rather than rebuild, they decided to use the proceeds from the insurance claims to go on vacation. They needed to get out of the enchanted forest til the animus settled down.

A few days before leaving, the wolf pack cornered Babe and Wilbur’s brother. They ate all of him; even the hairs on his chinny, chin, chin.

The two remaining piglets scampered away quick, taking residence at a distant farm. It was there that Wilbur’s plan was put into action. The genius of his idea was in its simplicity.

Pigs were categorized dependent upon whether they were wild or domesticated. Hunters pursued the former, which lived in the forest; the latter helped out on a farm. All Babe and Wilbur had to do was blend in with their surroundings, as if taking part in the witness protection program.

Although Babe was hesitant, she went along with the plan. Every now and again she needed a nudge of reassurance.

She complained, “I feel ridiculous wearing this costume.”

“I told you. We both can’t stay pigs. You know what happens if there’s too many of us. One of us gets turned into bacon.”

Babe looked her brother in the eyes and nodded with slow acceptance. Anything was better than risking the loss of another sibling. If that meant she had to dress like a turkey for a couple of months, then so be it. The outfit itched a bit but she figured the fabric would stretch after wearing it awhile.

“Do you remember your line?” Wilbur asked. “Lemme hear it.”

“Gobble. Gobble.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that. Think of it like you’re acting in a play. Become the character. Believe in yourself and squeal that line out!”

Babe took a few steps to mimic the way a turkey walked. As she trotted around, the red fleshy wattle under her throat swung free like Santa’s beard on a windy day. The longer she moved around, a greater degree of confidence filled her. She stretched out her tail feathers a few times before cackling the only sentence spoken in her one person play.

“Gobble, gobble! Gobble, gobble!”

Wilbur watched as his sister wandered off to take residence with the other turkeys. Her plump physique allowed her to blend in with the others without question. It was a charade that would only be necessary for a short while.

With Thanksgiving only a few weeks away, Wilbur knew it was only a matter of time before he could collect on the life insurance policy he had purchased in his sister’s name. Afterwards, he’d be able to wee, wee, wee, all the way home.