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Woodrow walked down the dirt road kicking pebbles and scowling. “Wish I could go swimming instead of looking for that sorry old pig, he mumbled. Wiping the sweat from his eyes with his shirt tail, he swatted a sweat bee off his nose. He had patched the hole under the fence where the pig had rooted out, and filled the trough with slop to entice the ornery critter back into the pen. But after searching the barn yard and gardens the pig was not to be found.

“Durned old pig,” Woodrow thought. “It’ll be heck to pay if she’s rootin in Mr.Wilson’s garden.” He looked up as the first drops of cool rain splatted his sweaty face. Gray fluffy clouds had rolled in while he ambled down the road mumbling to himself, and thinking dark thoughts about his wayward pig. Woodrow could see the rain following the mountain behind Mr. Wilson’s place and spreading across the valley.

Eyes scanning the sky, a smile flitted across his freckled face. “If that ain’t the prettiest rainbow I ever laid eyes on,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t it be a wonder if there really is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow?” Thinking about all the things he could buy with that pot of gold, Woodrow saw his pig trotting toward him across Mr. Wilson’s pasture. Breaking a branch off a nearby tree he said, “Come on pig,” and giving the pig a good swat on his hind quarters with the limb, “You’re gonna be damaged goods by the time I get your rambling butt home”.

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