Before I could change my mind, I swung the grappling hook like a lasso. When the

sow came down for its next pass, I threw with all my strength. The hook wrapped

around the base of the pig's wing. It squealed in rage and veered off, yanking

the rope and me into the sky.

 

If you're heading downtown from Central Park, my advice is to take the subway.

Flying pigs are faster, but way more dangerous.

 

The sow soared past the Plaza Hotel, straight into the canyon of Fifth Avenue.

My brilliant plan was to climb the rope and get on the pig's back. Unfortunately

I was too busy swinging around dodging streetlamps and the sides of buildings.

 

Another thing I learned: it's one thing to climb a rope in gym class. It's a

completely different thing to climb a rope attached to a moving pig's wing while

you're flying at a hundred miles an hour.

 

We zigzagged along several blocks and continued south on Park Avenue.

 

Boss! Hey, boss! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blackjack speeding along

next to us, darting back and forth to avoid the pig's wings.

 

"Watch out!" I told him.

 

Hop on! Blackjack whinnied. I can catch you . . . probably.