Wilbur did. He whined, audible to us with the window down a crack.
“You’re next, Willie Wonka,” I promised.
The little black oval approached, snuffling and snorting, like a pig.
“I think it’s a pig,” Goose said.
In that case, the noises made sense.
“Hey, buddy.”
He let Goose pet him, even before he took the jerky treat. When my beloved sat down, right on the yellow line up the middle of the highway, the little pig crawled up into his lap.
“He seems to be domesticated,” I said.
“Aww. Who’s a snuggle pig?”
I raised my hand. “Me. And can you get out of the road, please?”
Goose rose with a sexy grunt. At my side, he cradled his head into my neck. “Okay, snuggle pig.” Then, he kissed me there. “Now, what do we do with this precious little oinker?”
“Hmm.” Wilbur was agitated, agitated
