A Story By Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

In the small, dusty town of Lost Animals Farms, nestled in the Arizona desert, Sheriff Leroy trotted proudly along, his hefty belly swaying side to side as he made his rounds. With a shiny badge on his chest, a snout that could sniff out trouble from miles away, and a well-worn cop hat resting above his beady eyes, Leroy was the heart of this farm town. The Sheriff’s trusty tool? A yellow Club Cadet golf cart that purred across the dusty paths, a squeaky siren perched on top. At the wheel sat Peppy, a scrappy border collie with a knack for precision driving.

Leroy and Peppy patrolled Lost Animals, a sprawling farm with over five hundred animal residents. From the cows in the meadow to the chickens in the coop, Leroy knew every critter by name, and they all knew Leroy.

“Leroy! Good mornin’!”

A sheep called out as the cart hummed past.

“Howdy, Shirley!”

Leroy tipped his hat, his deep voice carrying through the air like a calm breeze.

“Everything good on your end?”

“Couldn’t be better, Sheriff!” 

Shirley baaahed back with a cheerful nod.

Lost Animals Farms had been a peaceful place under Leroy’s watch for years. Every day, he visited homes, ensured the animals were doing fine, and dealt with the occasional squabble over whose turn it was to drink from the watering hole. But today felt different. As Peppy skillfully maneuvered the golf cart down Main Trail, a sense of unease hung in the warm Arizona air.

The call came just after noon.

“Sheriff! Sheriff Leroy!”

 Rufus, a frantic rooster, flapped his way to the station, feathers flying everywhere.

Leroy raised his snout from his snack, eyeing Rufus beneath his hat.

“What’s the ruckus, Rufus?”

“Crimewave! Crime wave!” 

Rufus crowed, jumping in circles.

“Some animals’s been breaking into homes! First, it was the chicken coop, then the rabbit hole, and now someone’s in the barn!”

Leroy’s small eyes narrowed, his mind racing. Break-ins? CRIME! It wasn’t the kind of thing Lost Animals was known for. Peppy jumped into the cart and started the engine with a low growl. “Let’s roll, Sheriff.”

The cart zipped off, dust kicking up as they sped to the barn. Leroy adjusted his gun belt, making sure his handcuffs jingled in place. Peppy barked at the animals scattering in the path, the word “crime” spreading like wildfire.

When they arrived, the barn doors were wide open. Inside, chaos ruled. Hay bales were scattered, feed buckets overturned, and a shadowy figure rifled through Farmer Brown’s old toolbox in the corner.

“Freeze!”

 Leroy hollered, his voice booming.

“You’re under arrest!”

The figure spun around, revealing none other than Slick Ricky, the sly raccoon known for his sticky paws. He’d been caught in minor mischief before, but this was bigger.

Ricky smirked, raising his little hands as he slowly backed toward the barn door.

“Well, well, Sheriff. Looks like you’ve caught me red-pawed.”

Leroy wasn’t about to let Ricky get away this time.

“Peppy, block the exit!”

With a sharp bark, Peppy sped the golf cart in front of the barn doors, trapping Ricky inside.

Ricky darted left, then right, his beady eyes darting for an escape, but it was useless. Leroy lumbered forward, his massive frame intimidating despite his plump size. He pulled out his handcuffs with a snouty snort.

“Ricky, you’re done here. You’ve caused enough trouble in this town.”

Just as Leroy was about to slap the cuffs on, Ricky dropped a bag of stolen goods and – out spilled carrots, apples, and even some shiny trinkets from the horse stalls.

“It was just a little fun, Sheriff,” 

Ricky sneered.

“No harm in swipin’ a few things here and there, right?”

“Wrong,” 

Leroy said firmly.

“Lost Animals is a peaceful place, and we won’t tolerate thievin’ here.” 

With one quick motion, Leroy cuffed Ricky’s tiny paws.

As Peppy wagged his tail in approval, the animals gathered outside the barn, murmuring. Word of the break-ins had spread fast, and now they watched as Leroy marched the criminal out of the barn and toward the golf cart.

“Good riddance, Ricky!” 

a horse neighed from the crowd.

“About time!” –  squawked a chicken.

Leroy loaded Ricky into the back of the golf cart, keeping a firm eye on him. As they drove back to the station, Peppy turned and winked at Leroy.

“Another job well done, Sheriff.”

Leroy chuckled, his potbelly bouncing as they cruised down the trail.

“Yep, another day, another collar.”

With peace restored once more, Leroy, the potbellied pig sheriff, continued his patrol, knowing that as long as he was around, Lost Animals Farms would stay safe for everyone who called it home.

The End.