Swine Not? by Jimmy Buffett

at me as he headed for the confusion.
    Water and steam were shooting out of a large pipe onto the roof of the hotel. The hot water instantly melted the snow and made a little river that wound toward the stairway.
    “What idiots you are!” Boucher screamed. “This whole hotel will be flooded, and my kitchen along with it.” Then he spun away from the men trying to control the leak. He pointed a long, shaky finger at me. “What do you know about this? What have you been doing up on this roof?”
    My first thought was that he had seen or heard us playing in the snow, and I was waiting for him to shout about our pig. That’s when Mom appeared in the doorway.
    “Don’t you ever yell at my children like that!” Mom exploded. “You can yell at me all you want in your kitchen, Monsieur, but you never yell at my children — or anybody else’s!”
    I don’t think Boucher had ever met Coach Mom before, and it was very apparent that he had crossed an invisible but rigid line. He immediately backed down and spun on his heel.
    He turned to the group of men. “Well? What are you Neanderthals staring at?”
    I heard Murray explain that something was wrong with the main hot-water line that supplied the kitchen and the laundry. Mr. Flutbein arrived on the scene, and Boucher quieted down.
    They closed the restaurant, and Mom came home. A constant parade of workmen marched across the roof. There would be no more room-service-table trips to the park for Rumpy now, but at least she wasn’t alone. Mom cooked for us, and we played Scrabble. Then, when the workmen were through at night, we took Rumpy out for a walk — careful to fill in her hoof prints with loose snow when we were done.
    Our cozy family time lasted until the third day, and then we started to go a little stir-crazy. Up in the mountains, where it snows all the time, they call it “cabin fever.” Anyway, Mom ordered Maple to clean her room. This usually melted into an argument, the only time it ever happened, and Mom would act like a drill sergeant and hover over Maple, observing the cleaning process. This time, however, Maple just scooped up her cat, said, “Yes, ma’am,” and headed for her room. She was making the ultimate sacrifice for her pig, cleaning her room to be sure Mom couldn’t possibly discover Rumpy’s sheepdog costume.
    Being the neat freak, I didn’t have to worry about my room. I just read, watched Premier League soccer on TV, and played video hockey games on the computer.
    Late that afternoon, I was lying in the bed next to Rumpy when a huge ray of sunshine popped through the clouds and down into the fish tank. The Weather Channel reported that the roads in the Northeast were clearing, and the airports were beginning to reopen. I wanted to show Rumpy the big TV weather map, but she was staring out the window at a flock of pigeons that whizzed by. They were the first birds I had seen in days.
    “It’s always a good sign when the birds are flying again,” I told her. I looked out at the hot-water heater and saw no one around. The workmen were gone, at least for now.
    The phone rang, and Mom answered. I could hear that scratchy voice of Boucher’s through the receiver. Mom told us the kitchen was back open, and some big VIP who had been sleeping in an airport in Canada had just arrived at the hotel. He was in desperate need of fresh croissants, so Mom tied her hair in a quick knot, donned her apron, and went down to work — but not before inspecting Maple’s room and giving her a “job well done” kiss on the cheek.
    The thick gray clouds that had covered the city were breaking apart, and patches of blue could be seen off toward New Jersey. We knew the snow days were over, and it would be back to school tomorrow. In truth, like Mom, we were all ready to return to our regular routines, but we still had one more afternoon with our pig. I clicked off the TV and scratched Rumpy on the head. “This might be it, old girl,” I said. “I think I