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Adventures of Hedgepig: If he can make it there…

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Hedgepig wiped the tears from his eyes as he waited for his cab in the drizzly North Carolina rain.

Would he see his best friend Midge ever again?

Midge was a chocolate lab, who found Hedgepig ridiculously annoying. She was totally unaware she was Hedgepig’s best friend. In fact, Midge was unaware Hedgepig had left. She was napping soundly in her kennel.

Being noticed was always a problem for Hedgepig, given his small stature. It took about an hour before the cab driver spotted Hedgepig standing on the side of the road.

Luckily, Hedgepig’s umbrella was a bright, neon pink with orange flowers. Otherwise, the driver probably would have missed the five-and-three-quarter-inch-tall guinea pig shivering in the rain.

The driver helped Hedgepig into the backseat of the cab. The pig dried himself as best he could.

“Where to Pig?” asked the cab driver harshly.

“The theeee-a-tahhhh,” answered Hedgepig, stretching the word like a rubberband.

“Excuse me?” said the cabbie.

“Driver, take me to the stage, my future awaits,” said Hedgepig, sounding more like a Hamptons’ pig than a Blue Ridge pig.

“Do you mean the theater?” asked the cabbie.

“Yes, my fine man, take me to Broadway,” answered Hedgepig.

“Well, there are two theatres on Biltmore Avenue. I could take you to the Diana Wortham Center for the Performing Arts,” said the cab driver scratching his head.

Hedgepig, trying to shake the water from his ear, only heard ‘performing arts’ and assumed the driver was taking him to the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts in New York City.

“Yes, yes thank you,” said Hedgepig rather impatiently and rudely.

Having that finally settled, this free-range pig took a locally-made organic dill and carrot cookie from his Barbie suitcase. He snuggled into the crease of the cab’s backseat and nibbled. He drifted to sleep, thinking he had a long drive ahead. The warm and dry cab, along with his full tummy, plus the pattering of the rain, put Hedgepig into a deep sleep.

The pig was startled awake when the cab came to an abrupt stop.

“Here ya go,” said the cab driver. “The theatre is across the street.”

The cab driver lifted Hedgepig from the cab and set his small, pink suitcase on the sidewalk.

Hedgepig was immediately overwhelmed by the noise of the city and the smells; the SMELLS. He smelled smells he’d never smelled before. It was wonderful.

The pig handed the cabbie two small cookies from his suitcase.

“Is this all you got?” the driver asked with some annoyance.

“Isn’t that enough?” asked Hedgepig, who genuinely thought cookies were a valid form of currency.

The sweet, innocent expression on the pig’s face left the cab driver speechless. Hedgepig was quite possibly the cutest living creature in all of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

“It’s enough,” said the cab driver. “You take care of yourself out here pig. Downtown is a dangerous place for a little guy like you,” he added. With some hesitation, the cab driver drove away, leaving the small pig alone in the center of the city.

Hedgepig looked around him. Across the busy street, there, in bright lights, he faced two large theater marquees. Because his reading skills weren’t the best, Hedgepig misread “Wortham” to mean “Lincoln Center for Performing Arts” and “Fine Arts” to mean “Broadway.” He even imagined the marquee to read, “Liza Minnelli: One night only.”

Hedgepig took a deep breath. He studied the traffic racing in front of him.

How does a very small pig, only five-and-three-quarter-inches tall, with a suitcase and pink umbrella cross a busy city street?

What will Hedgepig do?

Will he turn and head home to the safety of his sleek, modernized, haute couture guinea pig cage?

Will Midge ever notice Hedgepig is missing?

Will this pig make it on Broadway? If he makes it there, will he make it anywhere?

And, finally, will Hedgepig get Liza Minnelli’s autograph?

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