Ice longa, vita brevis.
Be careful, little pig—don't get cocky. You're cute, yeah. The oink noise you make: it's perfect. But you think you can walk on that icy sidewalk with those tiny little pig legs without instantly losing control and being unable to regain it until you slide into the grass? Hah! In your dreams, buddy. It's not happening. "Oh, I can—let me just—," give me a break.
Pig, you're slip-y slide-y all over that ice.