The House Of Mr Owl

Thirteen portly pigs sat around a dining room table, dressed in their finest evening wear. All of them strangers to each other, with no notable similarities to each other besides the fact that all were pigs and all had received an invitation, by telephone,to dine at the house of a mysterious Mr. Owl.

None of them knew or had ever heard of Mr Owl before receiving the invitation but,pigs being what pigs are, they found it very hard to refuse any offer of free and plentiful food, and the food at this dinner party was both plentiful and extremely delicious; the finest vegetarian cuisine prepared by a top French chef from a swanky London restaurant.

“I really wish my 'usband Albert could be 'ere. I’ve never seen such fine food in all my life”, grunted a sow with a broad, Yorkshire brogue, who had spent most of her life eating pig swill out of a trough.

However, when a uniformed butler with a French accent entered and, with a grave look upon his face, informed them, “I am sorry mesdames et messieurs but I am afraid that ze Master will not be able to join you for dinner zis evening”, then the conversation turned from the high quality of the food to the identity of the mysterious
Mr Owl.

“It all seems mighty peculiar to me, mighty peculiar”, said a fat Hog from Texas,“Why’d some dumb old owl do all this for a bunch of pigs he aint even met before?”.

“Per’aps”, suggested a truffle hunter from
Provence, “Our monsieur Owl is, ow you say, not an owl at all”.

“Well what is ‘e then?”, demanded the Yorkshire pig , “A flamin’ ferret!?”.

Suddenly, at the large round dining room window, a full moon appeared and bathed all those seated at the table in its bright silver beams and
the Yorkshire pig noted how beautiful the
French pig looked with the moonlight reflected
in his eyes and, for a moment, thoughts of infidelity flitted across her mind but then, to her absolute horror, those eyes that had seemed so handsome started to grow and change their shape and his stubby, pink pig snout started to grow long and hairy and his little pig ears became tall and pointed.

“Non, madame”, said the strange bristling creature that was now biting and clawing its way out of the french pigs body like a bird hatching from a shell, “Not a ferret but a wolf, a were-wolf to be exact but, like you, my Pork-shire friend, we french do not pronounce the letter ‘H’ for my real name is Mr. Howl” and, saying this,the werewolf gave out a long bloodcurdling howl before leaping, ferociously,
onto the dining room table.

There was a mad, frantic, grunting, squealing rush for the dining room door but the first pig to reach it discovered, to his horror, that it had been locked from the outside.

“There is no escape for you, my pathetic, pudgy, porcine friends”, laughed the wolf,his lips dripping with moonlit drool.

Suddenly, the Yorkshire Sow stepped forward, “Before you eat me”, she asked, “I’d just like to say one thing, please”.

“Yes ?”, said the wolf, his great wolf jaws grinning with amusement, “What is it zat you wish to say?”.

“I and my 'usband 'ave been married for 25 'appy, wonderful years and yesterday we celebrated our 25th anniversary for which 'e gave me this beautiful 'atpin as a present”, said the Sow, pulling a jewel-encrusted hat pin from her broad brimmed hat and showing it off proudly to the wolf.

“So?”, asked the werewolf, “Why are you boring me with these petty little details of your petty, little piggy life ?”.

“Because”, said the sow, “It was our silver anniversary”, and, saying this, rammed her long, silver hatpin deep into the werewolf’s heart.

Silver, as every young schoolpig knows, is completely toxic to werewolves and thus,with the silver hatpin lodged in his heart, the werewolf collapsed in a quivering,hairy heap upon the persian carpeted dining room floor.

Then, when all the excitement was over, as pigs do, the pigs went back to eating.