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Tag Archives: pigs

Tuscan memory…

Cinta SineseThe Cinta Sinese pigs at Spannocchia were charcoal gray, black really, with a white belt. They were separated by age and sex and shared a single destiny: the table. Prosciutto on the hoof, they wandered in the woods eating acorns and showed up twice daily for an unappealing-looking mash of watered grain.

Most of the pigs emerged eagerly as soon as the truck pulled up. The young men pounded on empty buckets to draw the dawdlers from the forest. But one group — the young girls, they said — was too busy with acorns and wouldn’t respond to any amount of pounding or calling, so the fresh-faced, muck-booted blond intern with the red cheeks went to fetch them. The oaks were about 50 yards away across a stretch of open meadow. He disappeared into the trees and moments later reappeared, striding back across the narrow hoof-worn path with a line of small pigs trotting eagerly behind him, snout to tail.

They kept their comical cuteness until they got to the pen, when they suddenly erupted into pigs — squealing and snorting, shoving and nipping at whatever bit of pig meat separated them from the trough. Then: slopping noisily, inhaling their meal, snouts wet nearly to the eyes, they gave me a new appreciation for the phrase eats like a pig.
pig photo