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1
    â€œIgnoramus”
    â€œIgnoramuses!”said Mrs. Stout. “That’s what they are. Ignoramuses, every one of them.”
    â€œWho, dear?” asked her friend Mrs. Portly.
    â€œWhy, the other animals on this farm, of course.”
    â€œLeaving aside us pigs, you mean?” said another friend, Mrs. O’Bese.

    â€œNaturally, Mrs. O‘Bese,” replied Mrs. Stout. “All pigs are born with a high degree of intelligence, that goes without saying.” There came grunts of agreement from the other sows—Mrs. Chubby, Mrs. Tubby, Mrs. Swagbelly, and Mrs. Roly-Poly—as they rooted in the mud of their paddock.
    â€œI am speaking,” went on Mrs. Stout, “of such creatures as the cows …”
    â€œDullards!” put in Mrs. Chubby.

    â€œ … and the sheep …”
    â€œSimpletons!” said Mrs. Tubby.
    â€œ … and the chickens …”
    â€œMorons! said Mrs. Swagbelly. “ … and the ducks.” “Idiots!” cried Mrs. Roly-Poly.

    â€œImbeciles! Half-wits! Dimwits! Nitwits!”
    â€œJust so,” said Mrs. Stout. “Each and every other creature on the farm is, as I said, an ignoramus. Why, there’s not one of them that would even know what the word meant.”
    â€œSurely, dear,” said Mrs. Portly, “they couldn’t be that stupid?”
    â€œThere’s one sure way to find out,” said Mrs. O’Bese.
    Unlike the others, Mrs. O’Bese was a pig with a sense of humor, and it struck her that here was a chance for a bit of fun.
    On one side of the sows’ paddock was a field in which the dairy herd was grazing, and Mrs. O’Bese made her way up to the fence, close to which one of the cows stood watching her approach.
    â€œGood morning,” said Mrs. O’Bese.
    â€œGood moo-ning,” said the cow.

    â€œAre you,” asked Mrs. O’Bese, “an ignoramus?”
    â€œNoo,” said the cow. “I’m a Holstein.”
    Mrs. O’Bese went to a second side of the paddock, where there was a field full of sheep, and spoke to one.
    â€œHey, ewe!” she said.
    â€œMe?” said the sheep.
    â€œYes, you. Who did you think I was talking to?”
    â€œMa?” said the sheep.
    Some mothers do have ’em , thought the sow.

    â€œIgnoramus,” she said.
    â€œBaa,” said the sheep.
    â€œD’you know what it means?”
    â€œNa, na,” said the sheep.
    â€œWell,” said Mrs. O’Bese, “that cow over there is one and you are too.”
    â€œNa, na,” said the sheep. “Me not two. Me one.”
    Mrs. O’Bese shook her head so that her ears flapped.

    â€œAss,” she grunted.
    â€œNa, na,” said the sheep. “Me ewe.”
    On the third side of the paddock was an orchard with a duck pond in it. A flock of chickens was pecking around under the apple trees, and there were a number of ducks, some walking around, some swimming in the pond.

    Mrs. O’Bese addressed a hen.
    â€œIgnoramus,” she said.
    â€œWhat?” said the hen.
    â€œIgnoramus. That’s what you are, isn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t get you,″ said the hen.
    â€œIt’s a word,” said Mrs. O’Bese, “used to describe someone who has very little knowledge.″
    â€œKnowledge?” said the hen. “What does that mean?”

    Mrs. O’Bese sighed.
    â€œHow many beans make five?” she said.
    The hen put her head on one side, considering.
    â€œWhat′s a bean?” she said.
    â€œOh, go lay an egg!” said Mrs. O’Bese.
    â€œOkay,” said the hen, and went.

    A duck waddled past.
    I’ll try a different approach, thought the sow . Maybe I’ve been too abrupt. I’ll turn on the charm.
    â€œTop of the mornin’ to ye, me fine friend!” she cried. “Would you be after sparin’ me a minute of your valuable time?”
    The duck