The Cow and the Horse stood side-by-side in the garden with their heads turned up to the sky. They looked as if they were expecting something, and they were. The Cow did not like waiting and often fidgeted, her hooves nervously scratching at the ground. The Horse was content in his waiting, enjoying the feeling of the late-evening breeze on his tired muscles.
A small green dot materialized in the distance in stark contrast with the sky made red by the setting sun. It grew and grew and grew, and as it did the Cow twitched and snorted in excitement: the object of their wait was arriving. The big green dot slowly transformed into a hot-air balloon, a comparatively small brown basket now visible below it. The balloon landed softly in the garden, and out pranced the Pig.
The Pig greeted his new living partners and at once dove into a detailed account of the voyage that had brought him there. The Cow was entranced by the Pig’s tale; she had barely ever left home, and profoundly admired those who had traveled. She offered to show the Pig around the house while the Horse excused himself to go attend to dinner.
The house was well taken care of, but humble. The Cow was certainly more impressed by the Pig’s stories than he was by the place that would be his home. When the Cow showed him to the room that he was to share with the Horse, the Pig could not help but wrinkle his snout as he pronounced it “quaint”. He said it would do for a short period of time, but he certainly could not imagine living there forever.
They sat together at the dinner table to eat the meal the Horse had prepared. It consisted of stew, made with vegetables freshly harvested from their garden and accompanied by roughly cut bread, bought from the baker down the street. It was an austere, utilitarian meal, but nonetheless one the Horse was proud of having prepared and happy to eat. It would restore his strength after the labor of the day that had passed, and prepare him for the labor of the day that would come.
The Pig was not as impressed. He did not express any negative feelings about the meal, for he knew that to be untoward. Yet he could not keep himself from sharing stories about sumptuous banquets he had experienced in faraway lands. Intentionally or not, each remark was seasoned with a hint of condescension that the Horse could not help but feel.
The Cow, oblivious to the rising tension, excused herself after dinner. The excitement of the day had made it feel long, and she needed her rest. Left with no one but the Horse for an audience, the Pig attempted to continue with his travel anecdotes. However, the Horse proved to be a less enthusiastic audience than the Cow. He was the more hoofs-on-the-ground of the two, and was not easily impressed by that in which he saw no use to the trials of everyday living. And so the Pig got quieter and quieter, until they were left in an uncomfortable silence.
Not one for silences, the Pig traipsed around the room, sniffing for something, anything that could bring the conversation back to life. Coming across an old, rusty horseshoe he asked if there was any reason that trash was being kept in the room, or if he could go ahead and get rid of it. It took the Horse a second to realize that the Pig meant his grandmother’s old horseshoe, his most treasured heirloom. He did his best to not let his displeasure come through as he explained this to the Pig, but even the Cow would have been able to tell something was off, had she not been asleep.
The new roommates stared at each other, plunged in a silence that was only broken by the Cow’s regular snoring.
This story was written for Fictionistas' November Prompt.