"He's a wild boar!"
"He's shorter than I am!" I protest.
"He's the devil in swine form!"
"He's a sandwich waiting to happen."
Cal starts to argue but I turn on my heel, march down the hill, and stomp on the agitated boar until it stops squealing.
I stomp back to Cal. "Done," I say, folding my arms.
Cal nods, "Well, thanks for that."
"You do realize that there is more than one brigand out there."
"And unlike pigs, these guys will have opposable thumbs."
"Yes," Cal says, slowly nodding his head.
"Which they will most likely use to hold pointy things like swords and spears."
"Just what are you driving at, friend?"
"I'm saying if you're not up for a fight with against an aging pig then maybe you're not ready to fight a hundred armed and armored men."
Cal suddenly becomes angry again, "Are you telling me to leave my land?"
I shake my head, "Absolutely not. I think you should stay right here. In fact, you should stand right here in the open and fight them off." I glance over towards his wife / farmhand, "I guess you'll need to take turns with the pitchfork, though."
And with that I leave Cal to his fate. Dumbass.
Cal was farmer most brave.
Or perhaps I should call him a knave?
He'll die in the fight
with bandits tonight
Because he's clearly too dumb to enslave.
Hey there, Dirk Mudbrick. (Heh.) I see you're still guarding the sheep. And you're still named Dirk Mudbrick.
There was a sheep guard named MUDBRICK,
Wow. It's really not easy to find a rhyme for Mudbrick.
You won this round, Dirk.