The life of a sheepdog was a focused one that required precision, quick-thinking and a good sense of leadership when it came to herding those deemed ‘beneath them’, i.e. the sheep in question.

Fly, however, had since found most of those old-fashioned traditions to be utter nonsense ever since the arrival of the dear little sheepdog-pig named Babe. The young, curious pig had been embraced as an integral part of not just the boss’s family, but of her own as well, even more so after her pups had been sold off; an inevitable part of life, though one she could still grieve.

Babe had also become the star talent and blue-ribbon winner of many a sheepherding competition for taking what Fly had taught him and putting it to good use (which he’d taught her a number of things in return)… and, of course, for being a pig in a competition usually spearheaded by sheepdogs (or ‘wolves’, as the chattering sheep often referred to Fly and her ilk as – annoying wooly blockheads), to which she and Rex couldn’t be more proud of.

Rex, her mate, a devout traditionalist who had his own qualms with the sheep (long story), had initially been dismissive of the pig, seeing him as merely a disruption… but after reflecting upon his actions, how his cold outbursts had begun to tear his life apart more than reality itself already had, he soon proudly accepted him as his ‘son’.

But today was a quiet day. Fly took this opportunity to simply bask in the morning sun, the warm rays shining down upon the maternal Border Collie’s black-and-white fur as she laid on her belly right in front of the barn. It was a much-needed relief after recent events.

At least until the sound of tumbling boxes caught her attentive, perked-up ears, head raising from her prone state. That could’ve been any number of things: either the boss spilled something, one of the sheep had gotten loose, Duchess was being as craftily malicious as ever, or it very well could be…

“Babe?” she called out, her soft brown eyes searching for her son. “Babe, dear, was that you? Are you hurt?”

“Uh-uh, mom.” came the bright, chipper and raspy voice of the young pig, who came trotting over safe and sound “I’m right here! I’m okay.”

Hmm.

Fly’s tail flicked slightly. “None of the sheep have gotten loose?”

Babe shook his head. “Nope. Everyone’s in one place – I double-checked all by myself!”

…Hmm.

“Wait here. I’m going to have a look.” Fly instructed, rising to all fours.

“Should I tell dad?” Babe asked, to which Fly shot him a pleading look.

“Rex… no, don’t tell him yet.” she replied, though the implication was clear: she didn’t want her mate, even though his temper had improved, to get too defensive.

She just hoped it wasn’t one of those wild dogs that mauled Maa a while back.

No. No, she couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, she swiftly padded towards where she was certain the noise had emerged from: a far corner of the barn used primarily for storage, where a couple of empty boxes had indeed fallen… though one of them appeared to be trembling.

Fly’s head tilted, curious.

She then tentatively went to nose one corner of the fallen box, lifting it enough to turn it upright… only for a faint, slightly hitched gasp to escape her once she found the culprit.

It was a pup. A small, weary and undeniably terrified pup, who backed up, cowered and shook something fierce under the gaze of the Border Collie. They had no collar, no form of identification whatsoever, and looked like they hadn’t had a decent bath in quite some time.

Something awakened within Fly at the sight of them. Something familiar. Something sentimental.

Something she never thought she’d feel again.

They looked so much like…

“Oh…” she uttered, a shaky note in her gentle, motherly voice. Any uncertainties she had faded within an instant. “You poor dear.”

Fly slowly lowered herself to her haunches to appear less big to them, and kept her voice soft and disarming – in a way she hoped they would believe.

“Hello… please don’t be alarmed, little one. I’m not going to hurt you. Might I ask where you came from?”