"Pippin? Pippin Took, you sluggard, get up!" Yelled Pearl, Pippin’s older sister, rapping on the door to his room with her knuckles. If she had added: ‘We’ve got breakfast for you, with some tomatoes and bacon,’ perhaps he would’ve been a bit hastier in getting up. But she said nothing of the sort, and instead flounced down the hall to the dining room.

Peregrin Took mumbled tangled oddities of words under his breath, rolling onto his other side. He paused, then turned and sat up. He covered his eyes, blinking furiously as a batch of sunlight came to meet him. The only window in his (incredibly cramped) room faced east, as did all the other windows on the right side of the hall. ‘Not on the left side of the hall,’ Pippin always grumbled. ‘On the right side of the hall, with all the other un-important rooms.’

"C’mon, Pip." A voice outside his room drawled. "Mother says you need to make breakfast."

Pervinca, the younger of Pippin’s three older sisters, loved to nag at him. She followed him around all day asking if he had done his chores. If he said no, she would run off to tell their parents.

"Peregrin Took!" Came a shrill voice from far down the hall – His mother, in the dining room. "Come make breakfast, or I shall paddle you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week!"

This was enough to give him the extra push he needed. He jumped up, grabbing his shirt from a chair, and pulled it on. He fumbled with it for a second, buttoning it from bottom to top. He pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders (for he wore his pants to bed).

Pippin scampered out of his room, skidding to the left, and down the hall. He took a right, buttoning his cuffs, then turned a few more times. So he came to the dining room, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to fix his trouser legs.

His mother shoved a frying pan into his hands, pushing him through the doors to the kitchen. The youngest in a hobbit family was always the one who cooked the meals – they learned how to cook and such not long after they began to talk.

"Mummy," Pippin heard Pimpernal – the middle of the three oldest sisters – whine. "Mummy, I want some mushrooms."

Pippin grimaced lightly, pulling on gloves and grabbing a hold of a pot filled with water. He slowly heaved it to the burning fire, hanging it on a bar. He pulled the gloves off and tossed them onto the table, grabbing his cloak from a nail on the wall.

"Pippin!" He heard his mother yell from the room over, as he expected it to. "Go get some mushrooms from the garden!"

Pippin clasped his cloak around his neck, quickly ducking out the back door of the kitchen. He ran around to the front of the house, vaulting over the gate and scurrying down the road.

They had a very small garden, and mostly relied on Pippin to go to the market and get what they needed. But Pippin had forgotten to get his money (and he had eaten all the mushrooms in their garden), so he would either steal from someone else’s garden or go and ask a relative for money. The latter would be a lot harder to do, and nobody would notice if he took only a few vegetables.

He came to a fork in the road, taking the left route. It would take him to Farmer Maggot’s farm. He often snuck there to grab some extra food for Luncheon, the biggest meal of the day – out of all seven

He came to a high wooden fence and carefully pushed aside a broken board. He slipped through the narrow gap, letting the board fall back into place and crouching low to the ground. Farmer Maggot knew that many of the hobbit- children stole from his crops, so he would set his dogs at them. The trick was to disguise your scent – that’s why Pippin’s cloak smelled strongly of cabbages and carrots.

Pippin nervously dug his fingers into the ground, looking around for any signs of movement. Only the corn swayed in the breeze. No other movement. Nothing except a bit of -

"AI!" Pippin cried in surprise as something came hurtled out of the bushes to his right, knocking him flat on his back.

"Ah!" the other person cried in surprise.

"Frodo!" said Pippin, recognizing the figure before him. "Frodo Baggins, what are you doing here?"

"No time to explain," Frodo replyed hastily, picking Pippin up and tucking him under one arm. Pippin squirmed, and Frodo broke out into run again.

"I didn’t know you stole from Farmer Maggot."

"Who doesn’t?" Frodo said with a grin, vaulting over a cabbage and going in the complete opposite direction Pippin had planned on going.

"Put me down, Mr. Baggins!" Pippin said after a moment. "I can run just as fast as you can!"

"And what if you can’t?" Asked Frodo, followed by a whistle from Farmer Maggot as he chased them. They heard dogs bark as they ran closer. "Would you like to be caught by him, or his dogs?"

Pippin shuddered at the thought of what might happen if the dogs caught up with them. "You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, Frodo Baggins." Pippin said, as Frodo pulled him onto his back. Pippin wrapped his arms around Frodo’s neck for support.

"Like I said before, no time to expl-AH!"

Frodo’s last remark was cut short as he tripped over a shovel. Pippin went flying off his back and through the air, coming to a painful halt as the ground came up to meet him. He paused, clutching his head and lying on the ground like a discarded rag doll.

"Now what’ve we got here?" Said a voice. "Little burglars, eh?"

Pippin heard a deep growling in his ear, and sat up like lightning. A great brute of a dog stood before him, baring its teeth and snarling.

"Fang!" Farmer Maggot called, grabbing at it’s collar. "Heel, Fang! Half a moment!"

The (Pippin thought) incredibly vicious dog fought, trying to pull away from its Master. Pippin scrambled a few feet away, his eyes wide. In the next moment, a few things happened. Frodo jumped up from behind a tomato bush, Fang barked, and Farmer Maggot lost his grip on the dogs collar.

The dog lunged forward, pushing Pippin back into a lying position. It pawed furiously at Pippin’s pockets, snuffling and digging its nose into his jacket. Pippin smacked the dog on the nose. Fang growled, and bit into his hand

Pippin let out a soft cry of pain, but was drowned out by Frodo’s angry yell. Farmer Maggot wrestled the dog off of him, pulling Fang away. Frodo jumped to Pippin’s side, kneeling next to him and grabbing his hand.

"Are you alright, Cousin?" Asked Frodo immediately, using his sleeve to wipe the blood off Pippin’s hand.

"I’m fine, but..Ouch, this really hurts.." Pippin paused, grabbing his hand back from Frodo and cradling it, then standing up. "Is that blood?" He asked suddenly.

"Yes, Cousin."

"Is it mine?"

"Yes, Cousin."

"Oh dear.."

Frodo reached out, grabbing Pippin before he hit the ground. He turned to look at Farmer Maggot, who stood with an unusually calm dog sitting in front of him.

"Come with me, Mr. Baggins. The missus’ll fix your thievin’ friend up."

"No, that’s O.k," Frodo said, heaving the young hobbit up into his arms. He was only 11, after all, and easy to carry. "I’ll bring him to Bag End for a bit. Bilbo’s been wanting to talk to him anyway."

"Sorry Fang bit him," said Farmer Maggot, eyeing Frodo strangely and petting Fang on the head. "I honestly don’t know what came over him."

"I do," said Frodo, pulling some mushrooms out of Pippin’s pocket (that he grabbed while they were running) and handing them to the bemused farmer.

"Well. I’ll be damned," Farmer Maggot laughed, taking the mushrooms and putting them in his own pocket. "That little Fool of a Took."