First they visited a large penned-in area at the back of the building where
several hundred pigs were wandering around. “Here’s where they start,” the
guide said. “And here’s where they go in.” Three men wearing long rubber
boots were driving a dozen pigs into the shackling-pen just as Lexington
and the guide approached, so they all went in together. The twelve pigs
were huddled together at the far end of the pen, standing quietly, looking
apprehensive. One of the men in rubber boots pulled a length of metal chain
down from the wall and advanced upon the nearest animal, approaching it
from the rear. Then he quickly bent down and looped one end of the chain
around one of the animal’s hind legs. The other end he attached to a hook
on the moving cable as it went by. The cable kept moving. The chain tightened.
The pig’s leg was pulled up and back, and then the pig itself began to get
dragged backwards. Shrill protests filled the air. “There’s a good deal more to this recipe than just picking herbs,” Lexington said. “Aunt Glosspan would never have made it.” At this point, while Lexington was gazing skyward at the last pig to go up, a man in rubber boots approached him quietly from behind and looped one end of the chain around the youth’s own ankle, hooking the other end to the moving belt. “Help!” he shouted. “Help! There’s been a frightful mistake! Stop the engines! Let me down!” “Hi there,” the sticker said, smiling. “Quick! Save me!” our hero cried. “With pleasure,” the sticker said, and taking Lexington gently by one ear with his left hand, he raised his right hand and deftly slit open the boy’s jugular vein with a knife. |