“It worked yesterday!” roared Piggy.

“Don’t panic,” Rooster cackled soothingly, “there’s nothing to get upset-”

“Says a guy who shrieks at sunrises,” Piggy snorted.

“The Rooster’s gotta do what the Rooster’s gotta do.”

“You’re such a c-” Piggy started to huff, but Rooster interrupted.

“Don’t be dorky, porky, you want the Rooster’s help or not?”

“Oh, so you resurrect the dead now?”

“It happens the Rooster knows how to jumpstart a limp lepus. When The Man kicked it and left The Rooster in charge, he also left a ‘57 F-100 with a working battery. And I know where to find the jumper cables.”

“How do you know that?” Piggy grunted suspiciously.

“Let’s just say the Rooster has his kinks and digs a little Fried Chicken every now and then, catch my drift?”

“You’re the most disgusting bird I’ve ever met.”

“You haven’t dug what the crows are eating in the south forty.”

That’s how Piggy found himself standing between a rusted Ford pickup and a dead hare, while Rooster slipped dark goggles onto his tiny head.