Dr Oinkenstein

 

12 months ago the story of Dr Oinkenstein was revealed to subscribers to my Patreon. Now it has escaped it's bounds and can be read by all. But wait! At the same time as Dr Oinkenstein was released there was a short epilogue, The Bride Of Oinkenstein which is also here. It's special One And A Half for the Price of One January!

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Dr Oinkenstein

“The pig isn’t called Dr Oinkenstein. That’s ridiculous. How could a pig earn a doctorate? No, the pig’s name is Wilbur. The man who created him, that’s Dr Oinkenstein. Hogben Oinkenstein.”

“Created him?” I looked down into the pen. Here at the county fair there were pigs in all shapes and sizes, from enormous nursing mothers no one dared to disturb to miniature pets that followed at the heel and came and went at command. This one was unremarkable at first glance. Except for the furniture in the pen.

A stool, a desk, a tablet computer. A chess set, a pack of cards, a note pad. On an easel, a sketch pad and charcoal. Where the pig stood on his hind trotters, making marks with one foreleg.

“Shall we take a look?” My interlocuter led me around to the other side. There I could see a fair sketch of the fairground, to the front the rows of pens, then the great display tents and the wheel and rides to the back. It was a little linear, the framing naïve, yet a good reproduction.

“Are you telling me the pig did this?” I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice. The pig met my eye, tore off the sketch, and began another. A portrait this time.

“Of course. This pig plays chess, composes music, draws and paints; he composes sonnets and sestinas, can drive a tractor, pick locks, strip down a shotgun, change a nappy. When Dr Oinkenstein’s house was struck by lightning and caught fire, Wilbur climbed in three times to save his two children and also the cat.”

The face on the paper was familiar to me, from looking the mirror every morning. “Wow,” I said. “Some pig. But I do have a question.” The man beside me waved his hands in a negative fashion, the pig narrowed his eyes and the stump of the other foreleg jerked. “Why does he only have three legs?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” snapped Wilbur and picking up his phone took a picture of the sketch, sending it to his Instagram page.

 

The Bride Of Oinkenstein

“Do you, Wilbur T Pigg, take this sow to be your lawfully wedded bride?” The presiding officer frowned at the pair in front.

Wilbur nodded seriously “I do.”

“And do you, Janet Swine take this boar to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

She looked up in surprise. “Oink!” she cried.

“If anyone present has any reason why these two should not be joined… ah.” The presiding officer nodded to the usher. “Perhaps if you formed an orderly queue?”