Not very long ago, Secaucus, NJ, was a very large area for hog farming in the Northeast. Pig farming, to say the least, was not the same as making perfume. In fact, when I was a kid in the 50s, traveling to the Jersey shore was often accompanied by the hope that the wind was blowing away from the town, not from it. Most often, the smell crossed the NJ Turnpike for several miles, too long to hold your breath. Not long after, enough of another "stink" was raised by the general public to convince the powers that were to think of other land uses more suitable for property so close to the NY metro area.
My father-in-law had a place of business before and after the hogs, and he recounted this funny story to me.
On a nice, sunny day, his men, and the men from the adjacent shop would have lunch outside if the air was fresh, that is, blowing in the right direction. The businesses were on a busy roadway, Route 3, which made what I'm about to tell you even more amazing.
On of the men looked across the highway and saw a piglet, which must have fallen off a truck, squealing, and zig-zagging across the roadway, dodging cars and trucks, running toward the men on the other side. You have to picture about 15 guys cheering, about to wince, and hoping for this little pig's success. Somehow, the piglet made it across the road, and into the field next to the men's lunch table. The poor little thing probably was more terrified of the 15 guys playing Rugby in the marsh mud trying to catch him than of the trucks and cars.
Well, he finally was caught ( everything about how slippery a little pig can be is true, said my father-in-law).
One of the men decided to raise the pig, then bring it to market.
He did just that. However, no one told him that a 400 pound pig that wasn't castrated as a piglet is not fit to eat.
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