The Strongest Flea In The World
Once upon a forest pig lived a forest pig flea. His name was Sampson and he was the strongest flea in the world. Everyday he would lead the other forest fleas who lived on the back of the forest pig off to forage for food amid the thickest piggiest bristles of the pig’s thick piggy bristly hair.
This made the forest pig itch, and one day the forest pig decided to do something about it.
He grunted and oinked and thought and thought and oinked and grunted until he’d grunted and thought and oinked of a plan. He would go and roll in the thickest gloopiest mud of the great grey mud pools and when his bristles were plastered with mud all the fleas that made him itch would be stuck in it like flies in amber, and die.
So he grunted and oinked and ran and ran and oinked and grunted until he came to the great grey mud pools. And he spooshed and he sloshed in the mud.
To Sampson and the forest pig fleas, the great disaster of The Mud, came like a great grey tidal wave, like an avalanche or mud slide, like a mountain falling.
But Sampson flexed his mighty arms and took a deep deep breath, and when the mud had engulfed them all, he breathed out and blew a great bubble of air for all the fleas of the flea village. And he braced the bubble with his mighty arms so that the weight of the Mud didn’t crush them, and they could breathe in the bubble. Then when the pig had grunted and oinked and come out of the mud pool, Sampson flexed his mighty arms again and broke the crust of the hardened mud, and let the fleas out. Then there was much miniscule rejoicing.
Humph, thought and oinked and grunted the Pig, Mud didn’t work, tomorrow I’ll try water. I’ll dive into the great flowing river and the fast quick white waters will wash the fleas off my back.
So the next day he woke up early, and grunted and oinked and ran to the great flowing river, and swam out to the deepest part. Then he took a great big oink, and great big breath and dived into the white foamed, quick flowing water.
To Sampson and the forest pig fleas, the great swift flow of the water struck their tiny village like water in a tornado or a hurracane. The droplets of water were as large as a flea and hit like bullets. Surely they were doomed to drown or be battered by the great white flecked drops.
Then Sampson flexed his mighty arms and dived off the back of the forest-pig into the raging torrent of the great river. Holding his breath he dived beneath the vast bulk of the forest pig, and with a superfleaish exertion, by the strength of his great arms and the kicking of his mighty legs, he drove the pig back up towards the surface of the water, and held it - at arms length - a fraction of an inch above the surface of the raging waters.
The forest-pig was so startled by this, unlooked for, feeling of lightness and dizzyness that he thought he’d contracted River-Fever, and when he’d floundered ashore in a dream of speed and flurry (as he was secretly pushed by Sampson all the way), he resolved to stay dry and out of mud or water, and put up with a little bit of itching, rather than risk his health!
Simon BJ, and children.