"Was it the rat?" I ask, clutching them to my bosom. "Was it Templeton?" (I had been a little nervous about Templeton).
"The pig!" they squealed, still visibly shaken. "I don't like that pig who runs in the house."
"No, Wilbur is sweet. He's a good pig."
"Turn it off," they sob, shaking.
I have damaged my children with Wilbur, and here he is in the all of his gruesomeness. He doesn't mean to be "objectionable" but, oh, the horror. The horror. . .