Chapter 1

"Uncle Alex! Look out for that . . . pig?"
Jared's voice trailed away as Alex Armstrong applied a heavy foot to the brakes of his aging gray van and came to a screeching halt. A pink pig sat on its ackside in the middle of the two-lane highway, its black hooves splayed on the concrete. It turned its head and gave them a baleful stare from one small eye, but made no signs of moving. Alex craned his neck and saw that the porker had company–piglets scurried back and forth across the road, squealing.
"Looks like a truck tipped over." Jared pointed to an old pickup jerry-rigged with a makeshift cage that lay on its side a few yards ahead.
The driver of the truck—a thin, spry man who'd seen seventy in his rearview mirror—and several other passersby flapped their arms, but the pigs ignored them. A man in oil-stained jeans, a denim shirt with a frayed collar, and a billed cap that announced Red's Gas & Garage sauntered over to Alex's van, bent to peer into the driver's side window, and grinned a flashing white smile.
"Sorry about the holdup. We'll get them rounded up soon as we can. I told Ole that this piece of junk pickup wouldn't move Twinkle Toes, but would he listen? No way. I knew that if the pig and babies
all moved to one side, that tin excuse for a truck would topple, and look what happened."
"Twinkle Toes?" Alex stammered.
The fellow gaped at him and shook his head, like Alex had been hiding in the other half of the world. "He's taking her to tonight's petting zoo at the park. It wouldn't be the same without Twinkle Toes."
The man nodded as if that explained everything and meandered toward the sow. He pulled the billed
cap from his head and yelled, "You pink varmints are blocking traffic!"
"Like that's going to help," Jared muttered, but he never took his gaze from the chaotic scene before him.
The man named Ole, apparent title-holder of the dented pickup, rummaged in his jacket pocket and produced a dark, spotted banana days past its prime. He held it out and peeled it slowly to reveal a brown pillar of mush. Twinkle Toes gave a soft, almost loving grunt, hoisted herself to her feet and tiptoed toward the gelatinous muck. She reached her owner, opened her mouth, and made the banana vanish, peel and all. In a quick, practiced move, the elderly man slid a homemade halter over her head to trap her.
"If you guys would quit standing around gawking and help me get my pickup righted, I'd get her back in." A strong Norwegian accent frosted Ole's words. "The piglets will follow." The voice sounded familiar to Alex.
By this time the crowd had grown significantly, as traffic piled up in both directions. Alex took a step forward, ready to help. Then he remembered his impractical leather loafers. He wouldn't be able to get enough traction to make a difference moving the truck. Jared, city boy to the core, looked as helpless as Alex felt. Several men stepped up and, with much pushing and grunting, rocked the elderly pickup back onto its tires. Ole hopped into the box like a man half his age, shoved one end of a piece of three-quarter-inch plywood onto the ground, and turned it into a ramp. Twinkle Toes scrambled up the makeshift
ramp. The piglets congregated by the back tires and were lifted one by one to join their mother.
Ole used a piece of rope to secure the door on the battered cage, rounded the truck to the cab, revved the engine, and crept off at a snail's pace.
"Ole is batty about that pig."
Startled, Alex jumped. The fellow who'd first spoken to him had returned. "Excuse me?"
"Oh yeah. He does presentations at schools, teaching grade school kids all about pigs. He tells them how pigs sniff out truffles and that they have to wallow in mud to keep cool because they don't have sweat glands."
"Oh." Jared shot Alex a befuddled look. "Weird. I guess you learn something new every day." He turned the crank to roll his window up. The traffic jam was dispersing now that the excitement was over. One by one, the cars pulled away until Alex's van and the chatty fellow's truck were the only ones left.
"He even compares himself to President Harry Truman, if you can believe it." The man said.
Alex, who was beginning to feel as though he'd fallen through a rabbit hole and ended up in Wonderland, did a double take. "Excuse me?"
"According to Ole, Harry Truman once said that 'no man should be allowed to be President who does not understand hogs.' "
"I didn't know . . . " Alex stammered. How was he supposed to respond to that?

"I'm Dixon Daniels, by the way." The farmer thrust his hand through Alex's open window to shake hands. Before Alex could say more, the stranger wandered back to his own
vehicle.
"What is this place?" Jared asked, shaking his head.
Alex glanced at the road sign not thirty yards from them.

Welcome to Grassy Valley, North Dakota.
City Population: 1,254.
A place like home.

Alex took a deep breath. "Well, Jared, I guess you could say we're home."