ORIGINS: When we were designing the original series, the pig had pointier ears. They looked just like the sharp beak of some bird and we decided to let the story unfold from there.
I never wanted to be a bird-eared pig. I would have been happy using my curly tail to reach the full moon. Because then, when it waned and I fell, at least I would have been able to bounce back. A few tears. A bruised heart. But I would have learned a lesson, and gone on with my life. But someone put birds in my ears. They told me that I would fly, and I never learned to use anything else. Not my tail. Not my hands. Why would I have, if I had wings? And now it is only a matter of time. The birds will leave and I will fall. My breath will bleed out of my lungs. My bones will break. And the moon will be the thing forever imprinted in my eyes. Dark. Like an unlucky bird. One I will never be able to tame. Reminding me that I am not the moon. Not even the tide. That I won’t bounce back. Because I am a pig, and the mud stays dark.
I am a bird-eared pig. Do you know what that means? Pigs wallow, birds are free, and that just means that I was born to wallow in my freedom. But you are right. I won’t be a spoiled child forever. Some day I will grow up and I will have to fend for myself. My birds will leave me too, and if I want to keep living in the manner to which I have become accustomed, I will have to find something else. Nothing will ever be good enough to take their place, but a hot-air balloon can take me to the sky too, and I will take what I can get. I will breathe my dreams into it, and I will wallow. As far away from the real world as I can get. Until the stars burn me or I run out of breath, whatever happens first.
I have always known that birds leave. That they follow after summer warmth, and never look back. If you think that I ever put my trust in my birds, only because they whispered beautiful lies in my ears, you would be wrong. I am a pig, you are not wrong there. But that doesn’t mean that I like to wallow. I wasn’t betrayed. I am still hurt, but I have no intention of letting that emotion become my whole world. Some day I will find a dragon, and I will be the one whispering in his ear. I will become his treasure. And I will make sure that he never lets me go. No matter the season. Summer warmth or winter cold. I will make sure that my dragon’s blood needs the touch of my skin more than the touch of any other gold coin.
I am sorry, my birds, I wish I could have given you the sky; I wish I could have given you a beautiful dream. But my floppy ears are what they are, and I am sorry, I really am. My crestfallen birds, I wish I could have shown you something other than this dusty ground. But… no hard feelings, right? There is still time. Don’t leave. Don’t give up on me. I will catch a dragonfly for you. I will cry you a river, and use its wings to separate gold from dirt. I will find you a whole starry night in that muddy ground, and all will be forgiven… right?