By: Squealexander Hamilton, Dream Warrior & Professional Snuggler
The Wind Is Personally Attacking Me
Let me begin with this very simple truth:
I. Hate. The. Wind.
It pushes my ears back.
It ruffles my fur in disrespectful ways.
It makes strange noises that sound like ghosts with asthma.
And worst of all? It makes me squeal.
Not dramatic squealing — legitimate, survival-based squealing.
(Okay… and maybe some dramatic squealing.)
So for the past week, with the cold creeping in and the wind throwing tantrums across the pasture, I’ve been hiding deep in my hay bed. Burrowed. Encased. Cocooned like a giant, handsome pig burrito.
But here’s the surprising part:
…I’ve actually been enjoying the snuggles.
Harriet, who normally tells me she’s the boss every eight minutes, has been warm and pleasant.
Floyd, the ancient snore machine, snoozes beside us like a wood-fired tractor idling in low gear.
And me?
I’m tucked between them, warm, cozy, safe… grumbling at the wind but secretly loving the cuddles.
Which is, of course, when the dream hit.
Hamilton’s Cozy Winter Dream
The wind outside howled like a wolf auditioning for a musical.
My hay rustled.
My snout twitched.
And suddenly…
I wasn’t in Mudside Manor anymore.
I was standing on a vast, rolling field of golden hay, warm, glowing, perfect. But then the sky darkened, and a giant swirling wind monster formed above me. A villain. A tyrant.
THE GREAT WHISTLER.
It bellowed:
“WHO DARES TO LOVE WARMTH AND COMFORT?”
I stepped forward, cape flowing behind me (fleece-lined, obviously).
“I do,” I said. “A pig with purpose. A pig with heart. A pig who rejects cold fronts.”
The Whistler roared, sending hay flying, and I lowered my head, ready to defend my bed, my snuggle pile, and the honor of pigs everywhere.
And that’s when he appeared…
Enter: Honest Word (Red), the Elder Sage
There, stepping out of a beam of sunlight like a mythical creature summoned by destiny, stood Red.
Honest Word.
The oldest horse in the sanctuary.
Thirty-two years old, practically legendary.
A thoroughbred racehorse born April 30th, 1993.
He ran 24 races, placed:
First – 4 times
Second – 6 times
Third – 2 times
And earned $108,643, which is more than enough to buy me a lifetime supply of watermelon.
Red looked majestic. Wise. Weathered. Like he’d outrun time itself. The kind of horse who has seen things.
And he spoke (as beings do in dreams):
“Keep your hooves steady, little pig. You don’t outrun the wind… you face it.”
I gasped.
Such power. Such grace. Such unexpected mentorship.
He walked beside me, mane blowing heroically, and said,
“You’re stronger than you think, Hamilton. The wind is loud, but your heart is louder.”
Together, side by side, we faced the Great Whistler…
And with one mighty snort from me and one hoof stomp from him…
The wind dissolved into a warm breeze.
A perfect, cozy, non-ear-flapping breeze.
The Wake-Up
I opened my eyes, half-buried in hay, pressed against Harriet’s toasty side.
Floyd was snoring loud enough to drown out any remaining gusts.
And for once, the cold didn’t feel so bad.
The wind didn’t feel so threatening.
I felt brave. Warm. A little heroic, even.
Maybe it was the dream.
Maybe it was Red’s wisdom echoing in my mind.
Or maybe… it was just the comfort of being curled up with my pig family.
But one thing is for sure:
I’m still not a fan of winter, but with good hay, warm friends, and legendary dream mentors…
…I think I’ll survive it just fine.
Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton
Wind Warrior. Dream Hero.
Personal Protégé of a 32-Year-Old Racehorse.