We had pig, a very, very large pig, and her name was Lucretia. She was friendly and always seemed to have a dozen squeaky little piglets running underfoot. My father and I would take the goats out into the woods for the day and Lucretia would sometimes join us. My father carried a long stick, which he used to nudge and guide her, so I suppose we used to take our pig for walks. So many little piglets meant lots of pork meals. Although most of the piglets were sold off to friends and neighbors, at least one was kept for us, soon to become pork chops, lardon (pancetta), and salted hams and roasts.
— Ethel Brennan