Tube pigs

Once upon a time, in a bright, green meadow, there lived a family of pigs who were, well... shaped a little differently. They weren’t plump and round like the other pigs; instead, they were long and narrow, like pink sausages with tiny legs. And because of their odd shape, they couldn’t stand up properly or waddle about like other pigs. Instead, they had to roll everywhere they went.

Whenever they tried to join the other animals, they would roll right past them, unable to stop themselves, tumbling uncontrollably down the hills or bouncing over the rocks. The cows would moo with laughter, the horses would snicker, and the ducks would quack behind their backs, calling them “the rolling pigs.” Even the other pigs found them strange, snorting and turning away whenever they saw the tube-shaped family rolling awkwardly through the mud.

One of these tube-shaped pigs was a little piglet named Pippin. Pippin longed to play with the other piglets, to feel like she belonged. But whenever she tried to join in their games, her tiny legs couldn’t keep her steady, and she would start to tip over, eventually rolling uncontrollably away. Sometimes she’d try to stop herself, digging her snout into the ground or stretching her little legs, but it never worked. The more she tried, the faster she would roll, tumbling helplessly past the piglets who would squeal with laughter and call after her, “Look at Pippin! She can’t even stand up straight!”

At night, Pippin would lie awake on her side, looking out over the meadow, feeling an ache in her little heart. She didn’t know why she and her family were shaped the way they were or why no one wanted to be friends with a pig who could only roll. All she knew was that every time she tried to get close to someone, she would roll away before they could even see who she was.

One day, Pippin decided she would try harder than ever before. She practiced and practiced, trying to balance on her little legs, tipping one way and then the other. Finally, she managed to stand still for a few precious seconds. Heart racing, she slowly stepped toward a group of piglets, her legs trembling, a hopeful smile on her face. But just as she took her second step, her body started to wobble, then tilt—and before she could do anything, she was rolling again, faster and faster, spiraling right past the piglets, who burst out laughing as she tumbled all the way down the hill.

Humiliated and exhausted, Pippin rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill, hiding her face in the grass. The laughter from the hill above faded, but the sadness in her heart only grew. She was just too different, too strange. No one would ever want to play with a pig who couldn’t even stand still.

The days turned to weeks, and Pippin and her family began to keep to themselves, rolling around the far edges of the meadow where they could be alone. They spent their days tumbling quietly through the tall grass, rolling up hills and down into valleys, the only sounds the soft rustling of grass and the distant laughter of the other animals.

And eventually, Pippin realized something heartbreaking: maybe this was all they would ever be. Pigs who rolled around, alone, outcasts in a meadow full of creatures who would never understand them. So she rolled on, day after day, her heart growing heavier with each lonely tumble, feeling as if no matter how far she rolled, she would never find a place where she truly belonged.

And in the quiet corner of the meadow, under the endless sky, the tube-shaped pigs continued to roll, carrying with them the gentle, lonely hope that maybe, one day, someone would finally see them for who they were—and love them, rolling and all.