At dusk the pigs are always sent into their hut which is then securely locked. There are foxes in the area. These often get into the park by scurrying under the perimeter fence at strategic points. It's quite a task for the staff to monitor the entrances and exits. This evening the pigs were already in bed when the poet called.
the door locked;
their smell lingers in the pen
It happened that there was another haiku waiting along the path; perhaps a kind of poetic compensation for missing the porky duo. Who knows?
at the darkling pond;
the lamplight is broken