Here, we serve the soup plain with toasted bread; here is where pigs fly and dogs lie. No, really, the pigs fly, or rather, they get some air time. Kyle said when he went out back to check on Fred, his rooster, he saw them flying into the pond.
I didn't believe him, of course; little brothers can be such lying twits. It's not the first time he's exaggerated something to the moon. Like that one time, he said Luca led him to a hidden spring on the edge of the farm that miraculously dried up the next day when I went along with him. I wasn't going to fall for his crap again.
It was my turn to take Mary out to graze. She's always so happy to see me; she still wants to play like we used to when she was a calf. Today, I'm supposed to set her up near the woodshed. That's when I saw it for myself.
Mary and I were halfway to the shed when I heard a squeal, followed by a splash. Two more squeals and splashes quickly followed the first.
"No freaking way!" was the thought in my head.
I ran around the hill to the pond, just in time to see another pig sliding down the bank on its side. Off the edge it went, squirming and squealing in the air before it hit the water. One of the older piglets followed right after, getting more air time.
"When pigs fly..."
I don't think I can use that for dares anymore. Honestly, the more they did it, the more I was convinced I was dreaming and would wake up at any moment. I didn't, and Mary seemed interested in trying it too.
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