Read Online The Christmas Pig: A Very Kinky Christmas by Kinky Friedman - Free Book Online
Authors: Kinky Friedman
Ads: Link
not unusual for the boy. Like many great artists, the boy did his best work late at night. His uncle and aunt were well aware of his proclivity for nocturnal painting and had no problem with it. Nor did they like to in any way intrude upon a work in progress. And this, of course, was the most important work in progress the lad had ever tackled.
This night Benjamin was happy to note that Jezebel was cooperating. The night before she’d refused to sit patiently for the painting, moving around repeatedly inside the barn and finally retreating into her stall and refusing to come out again. Tonight she was enjoying a bucket of oats and being the perfect model. Benjamin was making good progress when he heard a familiar voice from the nearby darkness.
“Sorry I couldn’t talk to you this morning,” said Valerie. “Will was there. And your Uncle Floyd. It wouldn’t feel right for them to know. Ours, it seems, dear Benjamin, is a friendship that cannot speak its name.”
“How did you know my name was Benjamin?” asked the boy, a bit warily, as he continued to paint the horse.
“I get around a bit,” she said. “I’ve heard lots of conversations in the barnyard. Just because I’m a pig doesn’t mean I can’t hear.”
“I’m sorry,” said Benjamin. “I didn’t mean to insult you. People are always asking about me, too. They’re always saying, ‘Can the lad hear me?’ ”
“That’s because you don’t talk,” said Valerie.
“Just because I don’t talk,” said Benjamin, “doesn’t mean I can’t hear.”
“You’re making my argument for me, dear Benjamin. Anyway, what does it matter what most people think. It’s like what your Aunt Joan says to you, ‘You listen with your heart, dear Benjamin.’ ”
“How do you know what my Aunt Joan says to me?”
“I listen with my heart.”
By the time the horse was at last finished, Benjamin had carried on with Valerie the longest and the only conversation of his life. It felt liberating and wonderful and natural, almost like his own heart was talking to his mind.
“It’s almost dawn,” said Valerie. “You’d better get some rest.”
“Will I see you tomorrow night?”
“Of course you will. Good night, dear Benjamin.”
“Good night, dear Valerie.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Cow
N ELL WAS A VERY THIN , nondescript, brown cow who had definitely seen greener pastures. Like Jezebel the horse, however, Nell was all Benjamin had to work with. Right now she was standing outside her stall eating some hay and the artist was beginning to place her in the portrait. As the boy started to sketch Nell, he found himself wondering when Valerie would make her appearance. All day he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Not just seeing her, talking to her.
“Dear Benjamin,” she said, walking into the circle of light surrounding the easel. “I’ve missed you, dear Benjamin.”
“I’ve been thinking of you as well,” said the boy, with one eye on the canvas and one eye on the pig.
“But you didn’t miss me, did you? You’ve never missed anybody, have you, Benjamin dear?”
“I guess not.”
“Cheer up! You will.”
“I hope not,” said the boy, continuing to sketch the cow.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” said Valerie, as she walked around to the other side of the easel. “But what’s this all for? Is it for the king? I know you went to meet the king, I saw the knights here on the farm coming to take you away and bring you back. Come on. Stop painting for a minute, Benjamin dear. Tell me what it’s all about. A girl gets curious sometimes.”
Benjamin put down his brush and turned toward Valerie. Somehow it did not seem so unusual anymore to be carrying on a conversation with a pig. Even the fact that he was having a conversation in the first place no longer seemed so strange.
“Well, it’s like this, Valerie,” he said, in his charming if somewhat precocious manner. “Believe it or not, the king has given me a royal commission
This night Benjamin was happy to note that Jezebel was cooperating. The night before she’d refused to sit patiently for the painting, moving around repeatedly inside the barn and finally retreating into her stall and refusing to come out again. Tonight she was enjoying a bucket of oats and being the perfect model. Benjamin was making good progress when he heard a familiar voice from the nearby darkness.
“Sorry I couldn’t talk to you this morning,” said Valerie. “Will was there. And your Uncle Floyd. It wouldn’t feel right for them to know. Ours, it seems, dear Benjamin, is a friendship that cannot speak its name.”
“How did you know my name was Benjamin?” asked the boy, a bit warily, as he continued to paint the horse.
“I get around a bit,” she said. “I’ve heard lots of conversations in the barnyard. Just because I’m a pig doesn’t mean I can’t hear.”
“I’m sorry,” said Benjamin. “I didn’t mean to insult you. People are always asking about me, too. They’re always saying, ‘Can the lad hear me?’ ”
“That’s because you don’t talk,” said Valerie.
“Just because I don’t talk,” said Benjamin, “doesn’t mean I can’t hear.”
“You’re making my argument for me, dear Benjamin. Anyway, what does it matter what most people think. It’s like what your Aunt Joan says to you, ‘You listen with your heart, dear Benjamin.’ ”
“How do you know what my Aunt Joan says to me?”
“I listen with my heart.”
By the time the horse was at last finished, Benjamin had carried on with Valerie the longest and the only conversation of his life. It felt liberating and wonderful and natural, almost like his own heart was talking to his mind.
“It’s almost dawn,” said Valerie. “You’d better get some rest.”
“Will I see you tomorrow night?”
“Of course you will. Good night, dear Benjamin.”
“Good night, dear Valerie.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Cow
N ELL WAS A VERY THIN , nondescript, brown cow who had definitely seen greener pastures. Like Jezebel the horse, however, Nell was all Benjamin had to work with. Right now she was standing outside her stall eating some hay and the artist was beginning to place her in the portrait. As the boy started to sketch Nell, he found himself wondering when Valerie would make her appearance. All day he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Not just seeing her, talking to her.
“Dear Benjamin,” she said, walking into the circle of light surrounding the easel. “I’ve missed you, dear Benjamin.”
“I’ve been thinking of you as well,” said the boy, with one eye on the canvas and one eye on the pig.
“But you didn’t miss me, did you? You’ve never missed anybody, have you, Benjamin dear?”
“I guess not.”
“Cheer up! You will.”
“I hope not,” said the boy, continuing to sketch the cow.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” said Valerie, as she walked around to the other side of the easel. “But what’s this all for? Is it for the king? I know you went to meet the king, I saw the knights here on the farm coming to take you away and bring you back. Come on. Stop painting for a minute, Benjamin dear. Tell me what it’s all about. A girl gets curious sometimes.”
Benjamin put down his brush and turned toward Valerie. Somehow it did not seem so unusual anymore to be carrying on a conversation with a pig. Even the fact that he was having a conversation in the first place no longer seemed so strange.
“Well, it’s like this, Valerie,” he said, in his charming if somewhat precocious manner. “Believe it or not, the king has given me a royal commission
Similar Books
