"Guten tag, herr piggy :D! Ist mein little piggy ready for ze Luftwaffe? Nein? Too bad!!! Eheheheheh!"
Bacon Von Richthofen, named affectionately so after the old farmer's childhood role-model, had just been stuffed rather uncomfortably into an aviator's jacket, which was many sizes to large. The pig shifted a little bit, attempting to shake off the
get-up he had been reluctantly forced into, but his tries were met with bitter failure. "Just let it happen"
thought Bacon morosely to himself, "it's not his own fault his brain's so soggy now". The farmer, who had stood back
for a few seconds to admire his handywork, grinned a toothy grin and tottered off toward the other animals, a trunk of old World War II uniforms nestled beneath his arm. For a long while, the senility of the old man had been just barely there, lingering like some imp in a dark corner. It hadn't bothered the farm as a whole and most where content. It was obvious to the other animals now that the metaphorical imp had grown into something a bit more concerining. Bacon surveyed the scene, watching the farm's mutual dismay at the sudden change in the farmer's behaviour. He observed Reggie the goat getting shoved
into a general's uniform. He noticed Ferdinand, the old bull, get rusty, old medals get pinned onto his leathery hide, which did little to harm him but still created a decently irritating itch. One thing that did rather amuse him, however, was when the man attempted to shove a chicken egg down the barrel of his dicrepit Kar98k rifle.
After about an hour of chasing a very hesitant racing horse, the old farmer had given up trying to strap a pair of trench boots onto its hooves and headed inside for a long nap. "Finally" thought Bacon, "the coast is clear", and so he trotted over to the other animals to discuss with them the ordeal they had just faced. "The old man is truly out of it now" grumbled Reggie, fumbling with the buttons of the coat. Hooves made unbuttoning especially difficult. Ferdinand did nothing but grunt thickly (he was, after all, a bull, which everyone knows is not the most intelligent of creatures) and chew at the medallions, the itch caused from them still very much present. After a few minutes of eloquent bleating, lowing, and oinking, the animals bade goodbye to each other and left for their respecive parts of the farm, where they would all have a nice hearty rest from all the recent hubbub. Bacon was last to enter his abode, and, after thoughtfully chewing on an old apple core for a second to ponder the events of the day, let slumber take him. In his dreams, he was a pilot. A great one with medals and a whole air squad at his command. With great prejudice they brought down anyone foolish enough to enter their cloudy domain. Yes, Bacon was a pig, and he was flying. No doubt the aviator jacket was playing a part in his fantasies.

Upon awakening from the nap, the animals of the farm would find men clad in all white down the driveway, a white and red-striped van parked at the end, During his own sleep, the farmer's age had caught with him. His health would begin to plummet significantly. Within the next week, he would pass away, leaving the property
to his children. Some of the animals were shipped off to different countries, where releatives would be willing to care for them in their own farms. Bacon, however, stayed.
The eldest of the old farmer's children, his son of fifty-five, had inherited the farm and would be bringing his own animals in to join the local livestock. From then on, Bacon would occasionally mourn for the old man, for he had been good and kind to them all. But when such sorrows appeared, he would don the aviator's jacket as a blanket, which
he had snuck away in a hidey-hole under the shack in which he slept, and dream.
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Bah, I was never really good at writing sentimental stuff anyway. I couldn't figure out anything ridiculous to write at the moment, so logic won over comedic weirdness (ermagersh
Bacon iz lyk such a orginal nam fr pig!) Blech.
Anyhoo, here's my entry for the contest! At first, the plan was to do an aviator sheep. Y'know, because their wool looks sorta like clouds, eh? But then the phrase
"when pigs fly" popped up in my head and it totally dominated the original. Yup...okay. Bon apetit!

(Oi, you...yeah, you. Look up "Baron Von Richthofen" on Wikipedia if you don't already know who he is. Do it, fool! DO IT!)
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