The Great Pig Entrapment of 1886

A pig in Seattle, in a quest for a snack, wandered into the narrow space between two houses, tempted by a bin filled with potato peelings, green corn husks, and other edibles. The pig went for the prize—as far as he could—but failed, for the convergence of the walls left too narrow a space. It was a heroic and gallant pig, however, and he made desperate darts to reach the prize. With snout uplifted and nostrils dilated by the delicious odor of fermenting fat, cabbage leaves, and coffee grounds, he lunged and plunged, wheezed and snorted and cavorted—till he was wedged and jammed in so tightly that to move an inch backward or forward was simply impossible. Then, the proud heart within that princely pig quailed. He began to squeal, a sound that rose quickly to par value with the ear-piercing, bowel-scraping shriek of a locomotive coming into town three-quarters of a second behind schedule time. All the people living in the block were on hand, and each man submitted a prescription. Several of them were tried without in any degree tending to inconstipate the pig. Word was sent to the corporation house and Chief Pennison appeared with the entire effective force of the fire department. Peter Fitzgerald tried to poke the pig out with a hook and ladder pole, but the thing could not be done. Flaherty, a tough and sinewy lad, wedged himself in sideways until within reach of the animal's tail. The gallant fireman felt about, but the stupid pig, unconscious that it was a friendly hand that was groping astern, curled up his tail like a corkscrew and kept it so. It took a three-quarter-inch rope and two stout men to pull fireman Flaherty out of the hole. An attempt was then made to pass a noose around his neck from the top of one of the houses, which was accomplished, but whenever they tried to tighten the rope to draw the pig out, the noose would slip over his head. All attempts to dislodge him failing, the tired residents in the vicinity retired to bed about midnight, but found it impossible to sleep. For the pig slept not—he still squealed—madly, drearily—some people said damnably. Early Wednesday morning the efforts to rescue the prisoner were renewed. He was growing gradually weaker. Two large property owners were sent for, and they advised the employment of a carpenter to cut a hole through one of the buildings. Superintendent Sam Jones suggested a Burleigh drill and a giant powder cartridge, and a Skibbereen Afghan said, 'I don't think yez'll want the drill, sir, but the cartridge would do very well.' For fear of injury to the houses, the explosive idea was abandoned. At this juncture a stranger arrived on the ground who proved to be the man of the hour. Seizing a long scantling, he went to the rear of the building and, pushing it through the aperture, forced the pig over backward and finally got it near enough to the entrance of the space to admit a man at that end catching it by the leg and releasing it from its long imprisonment.