By: Squealexander Hamilton, A Well-Rested Abandoned Pig
Well, well, well. Guess who’s been abandoned again this week? That’s right, yours truly. Paul worked long days, and Chris and Krystin took off on some super special “work trip” (translation: playing dentist with their precious horse clients). Ugh. It’s either Horses or Puppies always hogging the spotlight. They get spa days, groomed daily, fancy treats… and I get a lecture if I sneak a snack from the feed room.
But you know what uninterrupted alone time means for me? Prime snoozing hours. And oh boy, when I sleep without human interruptions, my dreams get… interesting. Allow me to share three of my recent masterpieces:
Dream #1: Emperor Hamilton the Magnificent
In this dream, I wasn’t just Hamilton. I was Emperor Hamilton the Magnificent. Everyone on the farm lined up at dawn to present me with gifts: apples, belly rubs, and the occasional beer (because dream-Hamilton has class). The puppies wore little matching uniforms and guarded my throne, made entirely of marshmallows. Chris chauffeured me around on a golf cart painted gold, bowing every time I oinked.
Krystin had only one job: fan me with a giant leaf.
And Paul? Oh, Paul was my personal chef. At the sound of a tiny silver bell, he’d appear in full uniform, chef’s hat and all, carrying whatever delicacy I demanded. One ring: warm cinnamon rolls. Two rings: endless slices of cold, juicy watermelon. Three rings: a triple-decker snack platter stacked high with marshmallows, apples, and popcorn. He never once questioned my taste (unlike in real life when I get side-eyed for tasting different mud around the farm… what? It has a complex mineral profile).
And then I woke up. No throne. No marshmallows. No personal chef. Just a chicken pecking my butt. Dream over.
Dream #2: The Cameos
The next night, Abraham Lincoln strutted into the barn with his giant hat like he owned the place. “Four score and seven snacks ago…” he boomed, reaching for MY apple pile. Naturally, I body-slammed him; nobody takes Hamilton’s stash.
Just as I was basking in victory, Oprah clambered onto a hay bale, waving her arms and hollering, “YOU get a belly rub! YOU get a belly rub!” Suddenly, the goats flopped like fainting fans at a boy band concert. I tried to push my way to the front, but of course, even in my own dream, Oprah skipped me. Rude.
And then, shimmering wings and all, the Tooth Fairy drifted in carrying a little pouch. I thought maybe… just maybe… someone was bringing me snacks. Nope. She fluttered straight past me and started collecting the puppies’ teeth. Apparently, I’m too old for the Tooth Fairy… unfair.
She cooed, “Such brave little pups, these will fetch you a good treat,” and off she went, leaving a trail of glitter in the barn. The puppies were thrilled, Abe was clapping, Oprah was still handing out rubs to everyone but me, and I was left empty-hooved. Again…
When I woke up, I noticed something strange: a tiny sparkle by the puppy pen. Was it sawdust? Or… did I actually meet the Tooth Fairy? I guess I will never know.
Dream #3: The Nightmare
And finally, the horror story. In this dream, Chris looked me straight in the eyes and said the most terrifying words imaginable:
“We’re out of snacks.”
I squealed. I flopped. I rolled into a corner and sobbed. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, Krystin appeared holding a diet plan. I woke up in a cold sweat, squealing so loud I scared Pig Floyd… and remember, he is hard of hearing. He still hasn’t forgiven me.
So yes, while the humans were off gallivanting with their fancy horses and Paul was buried in work, I was busy living my best (and worst) lives in Dreamland. Honestly, if they don’t start including me on these work trips, I might just stay asleep permanently. At least there, I’m in charge.
Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton, Oink and goodnight