Happy Birthday Cathleen, from Golden and Pearl!

It isn’t either of the stories you suggested I write, but I hope you like it anyway. The plot bunny was from Golden’s bunny hutch and I wrote the story.

Tulip’s Egg

The day dawned bright and fair over The Shire, shining its light down the length of The Water and lighting the top of the tree that grew atop The Hill before it graced any of the town of Hobbiton. Gradually, the Sun rose and its light made its way down the tree to light The Hill itself and Bag End; the residence of one Bilbo Baggins and his heir, Frodo.

This particular day there were three guests visiting at Bag End. Young cousins of Bilbo and Frodo named Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took and a most wondrous Big Person named Gandalf, who was a wizard.

The light of the sun had barely touched the top of The Hill itself when the kitchen door of the hole opened and a small figure emerged, quietly shutting the door behind him. Little Pippin Took was a farmer’s lad and used to getting up with the sun. His cousins were town folk and more accustomed to sleeping in while the wizard enjoyed laying late a-bed whenever the opportunity presented itself. Pippin was alone.

Well, nearly alone. Upon his shoulder rode a knitted piglet with one wee hoof tucked under his left brace.

“They are always such a bunch of slug-a-beds, Tulip!” the youngster complained to his toy. “By the time they get up half the day is gone and I’m starving.”

The lad sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world were upon his shoulders and not just a wee stuffed piggy. He had often heard his father say the same thing when they would visit Bag End and Brandy Hall, and Pippin felt very grown up when he could sound like his father.

He listened carefully to Tulip’s reply.

“Yes, yes. I did go into the pantry and eat all of the buns that were left from supper last night, but there were only five of them and that’s not nearly enough. Plus I had to share with you.”

Tulip snorted.

“True, you don’t eat that much. I’m sorry,” the lad said as he patted her soft head. “Maybe there will be some berries amongst all the things growing in the garden or near the base of The Hill,” he said then quickly added to his friend, “No, I won’t go further than I’m allowed.”

It was a lovely mid-May morning and Pippin eventually found his way to Bag End’s strawberry patch. He and Tulip very quickly had red faces and happy full tummies. Pippin was just about to pick what he assured his friend would be his last berry, when the piglet squealed in his ear.

“Not so loud, lass!” he said as he stuck a red tipped finger into his left ear, wiggled it about, then let it out with a soft pop. “What are you going on about? What egg? Oh!”

There, on the ground under the bright green leaves of the strawberry plants, lay a large brown egg. Tulip jumped down off of Pippin’s shoulder to snuffle and sniff at the egg. Then, to the lad’s amazement, she gently laid down on top of it, shifting about until her belly comfortably covered and surrounded the egg.

“What do you mean, it’s yours?” Pippin said, his eyes wide with surprise. “Pigs don’t lay eggs! It’s a chicken egg.”

He listened to her answer.

“I know a chicken egg when I see one, Tulip. I’ve had to fetch enough of them from under the hens at home.”

“No, I don’t see a chicken anywhere nearby.”

“No, one hasn’t come running up squawking at us.”

“Yes, it does seem that some mama chicken laid it here and just left it, but . . . but . . . but Tulip, you aren’t a chicken. You’re a knitted piglet.”

“Well yes, that’s true. The chick will die if it isn’t brooded.” The lad paused, a sheen of tears forming along his lower eyelid. “That would be sad, wouldn’t it?”

Tulip nodded firmly, her own eyes getting a bit teary as well.

Pippin pulled out his shirt tail then knelt down beside his piglet and her egg. Gently he reached underneath Tulip to get the egg, which he put into the sling formed by his shirt tail, then he put the knitted piglet back on top of it. He carefully stood up and slowly walked back to the kitchen door of Bag End.

A short time later, Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf all stood around the kitchen table looking down at one of Bilbo’s large mixing bowls. Pippin had put two soft towels into the bottom of the bowl, then put the egg on top of the towels, then put Tulip back on top of her egg.

“She said since the mama chicken didn’t want it, it is now her egg and she will brood it until it hatches,” Pippin was saying as he finished explaining to the others why Tulip was in a bowl with an egg under her.

Merry hid his face behind Frodo’s shoulder so Pippin wouldn’t see him starting to chuckle. Frodo’s lips were tight with trying not to join Merry. Bilbo looked at Gandalf, who looked back at him. They each had an eyebrow raised. Pippin stood there looking at everyone with anxious eyes.

“Well, Miss Tulip,” the wizard said to the pink toy piggy with the bright green embroidered eyes. “That is a kindly gesture on your part. You are aware, I hope, that chicken eggs take twenty-one days to hatch?”

“She says she knows that, Gandalf,” Pippin said, knowing that he was the only one Tulip spoke to. But to his surprise Gandalf spoke again, answering a question from the piglet.

“Yes, you can leave the egg for short times to attend to other needs, but you could not be gone long. No more adventures with your lad until your chick is hatched. No,” Gandalf continued after another slight pause. “You needn’t stay here the whole twenty-one days. You could travel back to Whitwell in a nice basket and your egg should be just fine. May I see it?”

Pippin’s mouth hung open. No one else had ever really seemed to hear Tulip before. He watched as Tulip let the Big Person reach under her and bring out her egg. Gandalf gently cupped his hands around the egg as he closed his eyes. He stayed that way a few minutes, while all the hobbits stared at him. Merry and Frodo had stopped chuckling and Bilbo looked surprised. The wizard seemed to be taking this all so seriously!

At last Gandalf opened his wise old eyes. “There is indeed a chicken in your egg, Miss Tulip,” he solemnly intoned as he picked up the knitted piggy to look deeply into her satin-stitched eyes. “Yes. I do think that you will be a good surrogate mother. I think we should allow you and young Peregrin here to tend to this egg. But I dare say Bilbo would like his mixing bowl back.”

He looked over at his old friend with a twinkle in his eyes. “Might you have a nice cozy basket handy, Bilbo?”

A basket was found and the towels, egg and piglet were duly ensconced therein. Pippin made sure that Tulip had time away from her egg, always being careful to cover the egg with a warm towel when he did so.

It was a couple of evenings later that Gandalf told Bilbo that he would be leaving before the morning came.

“You haven’t done something we will all regret with Pippin and that egg, have you?” Bilbo asked warily. He hated to doubt his dear friend, but he also hated the idea of the little lad’s disappointment when the egg did not hatch.

“Me?” Gandalf replied with mock surprise, then he smiled broadly. “There was a reason I asked to hold that egg, Bilbo Baggins. Believe me, I could not live with myself knowing I had hurt that lad’s soft heart anymore than I could ever tolerate disappointing your Frodo.”

Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. “All is well then, though it is the oddest thing I’ve been party to in a long time.”

When the time of Pippin’s visit to Bag End came to an end, he had Frodo hold the basket with Tulip and her egg while he climbed into his father’s cart, then he carefully held the basket on his lap all the way home to Whitwell. His father and mother shrugged their shoulders at each other when their son announced that Tulip was hatching an egg then walked carefully to his room to put the basket in a warm spot in his bedroom.

“‘Twas all I could do to not laugh out loud at the lad when he told me that after he was settled in the cart,” Paladin said, shaking his head and grinning. “He said he and Tulip found the egg in Bilbo’s strawberry patch and Tulip claimed it for her own.”

Eglantine chuckled as she leaned against her husband’s shoulder. “Our son and his piggy! What a pair they make.” Then her smile faded. “Whatever shall we do when it doesn’t hatch?”

“Well,” Paladin said as he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “That is an even odder thing. Old Bilbo said that Gandalf himself assured him it would hatch, if you can imagine a wizard giving concern to such a thing.”

“I do believe he is just a softy underneath those bristly eyebrows,” Eglantine said, returning his hug. “I’ll just go and make sure Pippin has put the brooding mother and her egg in a safe place.”

The days passed by. Pearl, Nell and Vinca had many a good laugh over their little brother’s odd notions, but they did so off in their rooms or on walks away from the house for their parents had told them they did not wish to listen to Pippin’s anguish if his sister’s were to mock him or Tulip.

The morning of Forelithe 4th dawned bright and fair over the farm of Paladin Took in Whitwell. As his bedroom grew lighter, and a certain young hobbit lad began to stir with wakefulness, he became aware of a soft peeping noise. At first he wished the silly bird outside his window would be quiet. Then, he jumped from his bed and rushed to the hearth in his room.

There was a wee yellow ball of fuzz next to the pink knitted piglet in the basket.

“Wake up!” Pippin happily shouted as he ran down the halls of the house. “Wake up everyone! Tulip’s a Mama!”

Tulip just smiled a self satisfied smile.