Herman Hog entered the expansive shop and was greeted by Bill Llama. Herman knew his name because all sales associates at Charlotte's Pet Shop wore name tags affixed to their fur, feathers or scales.

"What can I do ya for?" Bill asked, and Herman, a short, fat fella, craned his stubby neck in an attempt to see Bill's face.

"I'm looking for a pet," Herman said to a set of knobby knees, and Bill being a thoughtful llama, buckled his legs, collapsing to the linoleum floor in a heap.

Even in Bill's lowered state, Herman could only view the hairy underside of his chin, in constant motion as it worked to chew a wad of gum or perhaps his cud, if llamas chewed cuds.

"Whaddaya lookin' for?" the chin asked.

Herman cleared his throat, "Ahem," and his mind went blank. "What kind of pet will suit an old boar whose family doesn't even have time for him?"

"Lemme show ya the inventory."

Bill scrambled to his feet, and Herman followed him to the cages in the back. He gasped upon seeing the vast array the shop had to offer. Overwhelmed, he'd wait for a pet to pick him, which was often how it went.

A man caught his eye. Like all humans, it was an ugly creature, sold "as is" with accessories. Bill pointed out the beige shirt and brown leather suspenders, which held up the britches—also brown. The human showed its teeth before squatting, then poked one bendy appendage through the chain-link to give Herman a healthy scratch behind his left ear. The area he could never reach with his cloven hooves.

Herman sighed, and the beast threw its head back to make the sound that humans seemed to make, "hahaha," followed by a string of nonsensical syllables that sounded inquisitive in nature, "youlikethatlittlefella?" Only the good Lord above could decipher what the upright creature's emanations meant.

Herman remembered endless days and nights in his efficiency apartment, watching reruns of Green Acres, waiting for calls that never came from the piglets or sows. His eyes teared up. It was lonely indeed, eating his nightly slop at a table meant for two. He blinked away his tears as the man continued to scratch and make the nonsensical sounds, envisioning a new life in which he had a human companion. It seemed to be a thing these days, having a human for a pet.

He saw a bright future in which dinner for two ended with Herman standing on the tabletop getting his nightly ear scratches. Perhaps he could even teach it to communicate. He looked deep into the man's soulful brown eyes, recognizing a flicker of intelligence. The human showed its teeth and Herman oinked his approval and followed Bill to the register to validate the contract.

Herman would call it a name befitting a rare human, one who held pig-like intelligence. He glanced at the spider in the corner web and nodded. Wilbur. Yes. Wilbur would do nicely.

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