Havok Publishing

Tag - farm animals

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The Pink Fairy Armadillo Army

By Ronnell Kay Gibson You give one pink fairy armadillo a belly rub, and now look what’s gone an’ happened—I’ve got an army of the little buggers. The first armadillo showed up a week ago. My dog, Brewser, plum scared the bajeezers outta me when he started barking at the butt-crack of dawn. The border

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Cow Tippin’

Ya open the spaceship’s door and stare at yer landin’ spot. This deserted planet seems made for cows. Lotsa grass, stretchy bright sky. Some spindly trees for shade. No fences in sight. Yer herd will love it. Or oughta, anyway. Ya never know with them testy space cows. One thing wrong, and yer world

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Farmer, Inventor, Goat

If only that blasted goat hadn’t eaten the time machine.
Inventor and his brother, Farmer, hadn’t spoken a word between them since. Plus, the stupid goat blipped to the Renaissance every time it hiccupped for a solid month. That afternoon snack had ruined everything…
Inventor shook his head, staring out the workshop’s high

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A Fowl Afoul

I scrambled across the roof of the Royal Treasury Coop. Hopefully the City Guard wouldn’t spot me holding a squawking golden chicken above my head and assume the worst.
A metal hook clanged against the clay tiles just ahead. I dodged the attached rope and glanced back. Two gray-cloaked thugs pursued me.

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For the Love of Watermelon

On all the nine planets, there exists no creature more majestic than the mighty water buffalo. Resilient. Unflappable. And unpardonably cute when presented with a juicy slice of watermelon.
“Aren’t you the most darling girl? Yes.” Amelia cooed as she scratched the coarse hair between Mrs. Bates’s big dark eyes.
Bates paid

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The Mastermind

Vills climbed onto the bottom rung of the wooden fence and peered into the pen. “Willy, can you really understand what he’s sayin’?”
His older brother squatted, staring into the eyes of their piglet, Charleston. “Shhh. I gotta concentrate.”
Charleston snorted, squealed, and danced around in a circle.
Vills leaned his shoulders over the

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Little Piggy Run Amok

I narrow my eyes at the porker rooting through a box of graham crackers on my kitchen floor. Today, your reign of terror comes to an end.
The potbelly pig chomps down on another package of crackers. I crouch, inching past the cupboard door that hangs lopsidedly from busted hinges, victim

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