CHAPTER 3
“Why can’t I learn?”
By dark it was plain to Farmer Hogget that, whether he liked it or not, Fly had not four, but five children.
All the long summer evening Babe had followed Fly about the yard and buildings, aimlessly, it seemed to the watching farmer, though of course this was not the case. It was in fact a conducted tour. Fly knew that if this foster child was to be allowed his freedom and the constant reassurance of her company for which he obviously craved, he must quickly learn (and clearly he was a quick learner) his way about the place; and that he must be taught, as her puppies had been taught, how to behave like a good dog.
“A pig you may be, Babe,” she had begun by saying, “but if you do as I tell you, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the boss doesn’t let you run about with us, instead of shutting you up. He’s a kind man, the boss is.”
“I knew that,” said Babe, “when he first picked me up. I could feel it. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You wait…” began one of the puppies, and then stopped suddenly at his mother’s warning growl. Though she said nothing, all four of her children knew immediately by instinct what she meant.
“Wait for what?” said Babe.
“Er…you wait half a sec, and we’ll take you round and show you everything,” said the same puppy hastily. “Won’t we, Mum?”
So Babe was shown all around the yard and the farm buildings, and introduced to the creatures who lived thereabouts, the ducks and chickens and other poultry, and the farm cats. He saw no sheep, for they were all in the fields.
Even in the first hour he learned a number of useful lessons, as the puppies had learned before him: that cats scratch and hens peck, that turning your back on the turkey cock means getting your bottom bitten, that chicks are not for chasing and eggs are not for eating.
“You do as I do,” said Fly, “and you’ll be all right.”
She thought for a moment. “There is one thing though, Babe,” she said, and she looked across at the back door of the farmhouse, “if I go in there, you stay outside and wait for me, understand?”
“Aren’t pigs allowed in there?” asked Babe.
“Not live ones,” said one of the puppies, but he said it under his breath.
“No, dear,” said Fly. Well, not yet anyway, she thought. But the way you’re going on, I shouldn’t be surprised at anything. Funny, she thought, I feel really proud of him, he learns so quick. Quick as any sheepdog.
That night the loose box in which Babe had first been put was empty. In the one next door, all six animals slept in the straw together. Though he did not tell his wife, Farmer Hogget had not had the heart to shut the piglet away, so happy was it in the company of the dogs.
At first the puppies had not been equally happy at the idea.
“Mum!” they said. “He’ll wet the bed!”
“Nonsense,” said Fly. “If you want to do anything, dear, you go outside, there’s a good boy.”
I nearly said, “There’s a good pup,” she thought. Whatever next!
In fact, in the days that followed, Babe became so doglike, what with coming when Fly came and sitting when Fly sat and much preferring dog’s food to anything else he was offered, that Farmer Hogget caught himself half expecting, when he patted the piglet, that it would wag its tail. He would not have been surprised if it had tried to accompany Fly when he called her to go with him on his morning rounds, but it had stayed in the stables, playing with the puppies.
“You stay with the boys, Babe,” Fly had said, “while I see to the sheep. I shan’t be long.”
“What’s sheep?” the piglet said when she had gone.
The puppies rolled about in the straw.
“Don’t you know that, you silly Babe?” said one.
“Sheep are animals with thick woolly coats.”
“And thick woolly heads.”
“And men can’t look after them without the help of the likes of us,” said the fourth.
“Why do they need you?” said Babe.
“Because we’re sheepdogs!” they all cried together, and ran off up the yard.
Babe thought about this matter of sheep and sheepdogs a good deal during the first couple of weeks of his life on the Hoggets’ farm. In that time Fly’s puppies, now old enough to leave home, had been advertised for sale, and Fly was anxious to teach them all she could before they went out into the world. Daily she made them practice on the ducks, while Babe sat beside her and watched with interest. And daily their skills improved and the ducks lost weight and patience.
Then there came, one after another, four farmers, four tall long-legged men who smelled of sheep. And each picked his puppy and paid his money, while Fly sat and watched her children leave to start their working life.
As always, she felt a pang to see them go, but this time, after the last had left, she was not alone.
“It’s nice, dear,” she said to Babe. “I’ve still got you.”
But not for all that long, she thought. Poor little chap, in six months or so he’ll be fit to kill. At least he doesn’t know it. She looked at him fondly, this foster child that now called her “Mum.” He had picked it up, naturally enough, from the puppies, and it pleased her to hear it, now more than ever.
“Mum,” said Babe.
“Yes, dear?”
“They’ve gone off to work sheep, haven’t they?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Because they’re sheepdogs. Like you. You’re useful to the boss, aren’t you, because you’re a sheepdog?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Well, Mum?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why can’t I learn to be a sheep-pig?”