Raising teenagers is tough. Even The Piper of Hamlin had his family troubles. Maybe that's why he did--well you know--what he did. Mother Goose didn't tell you the "rest of the story" so I guess it's up to me.

THE PIE-EYED PIPER

The Piper peered into the bottom of the mug. His nose smashed against the rim as his eyes crossed and uncrossed while his tongue greedily lapped at the drops left in the bottom.

"Darn kid," he growled when he came up for air. He slammed the mug on the bar and yelled, "Innkeeper, bring me another one!"

The burly, old man behind the bar squinted his eyes and scowled. "Okay, but don't blame me if yer wife comes after you with a broom when you get home." He filled a mug with sudsy brew from a big wooden cask and set it down with a slosh. Foam splashed onto on the rough wooden bar and soaked into the cracks.

"Stole a pig. That's what my son, Tom, did. Stole a damned, smelly, fat hog. Stole a pig, and away he run. Yellow little coward." He took a long pull on the new drink. Little fart didn't even bring any bacon home for me and his poor old Ma. Least he coulda' done was bring home a little ham or somethin'." He glared at the innkeeper behind the bar. "Don't ya think?"

"Ain't my job to think," he said. "But you are right. Bringin' up kids today ain't easy."

"Nope. It sure ain't." He took another pull at the brew. "Know what that little snotty nosed brat did with that pig?"

"What he do?"

"Sold it! That's what. Sold it to that fat slob of a butcher in the market."

"Hmmm." The Innkeeper scowled again. "How much did he get?"

"Don't matter none. The Constable took it away from him before I could get my hands on it. Took it away and gave it to the farmer Tom stole the pig from. Said it was rightly his seein' as how it was his pig to begin with." He took another swig. "Then you know what? That Constable had the nerve to say it was all my fault. Said I didn't teach Tom no values. Hah! Like I got time to be teachin' anything. I'm too busy tryin' to keep food on the table. Spend all my time marchin' up and down stinkin' alleys and cobbled streets playin' my flute so them stupid rats will come and follow me so I can drown 'em. What kind of life is that? Do you know what those cobbled streets do to my poor feet? Makes my corns ache just thinkin' of it."

The Innkeeper shrugged and headed off to another customer that was shaking his mug in the air and yelling, "Innkeeper! More!"

The Piper shook his head and groaned. "What a life. What a life."

The Innkeeper returned and leaned on the bar. "Yep, sounds like you got a load of troubles. So what did you do to Tom?"

"Beat him, that's what. Beat him with a big 'ol stick. Then his Mama came runnin' out of the house a yellin' and raisin' the devil. Started screamin' about laws and child abuse and all that new fangled stuff. She took the stick away from me, and Tom took off runnin' down the street, cryin' like a baby."

"Hmm. That was kinda' harsh don't you think? I mean beating him and all?"

"Well, what else could I do?"

"Well, I don't know, but maybe you shoulda' played that flute of yours and maybe it would calm him down some. You know--kinda' make him want to follow in your footsteps so to speak. Kids like music, you know."

"Yeah. Well maybe I'll keep that in mind. Kids do like music--almost as much as rats do. Anyway, thanks for the brew. Gotta go."

"You heading home now, Piper?" The Innkeeper started wiping the bar. "You probably should, you know. You been drinkin' pretty heavy."

The Piper staggered to his feet and stood swaying a little so he had to hold onto the bar to steady himself. "Naw. Can't go home yet. Got a gig over the river in a hole-in-the-wall place called Hamlin. They got some rats they want rid of. Promised me good money. They better not try to stiff me like that last place did. I'm just not in the mood."