This innocent looking drawing had us a little bewildered at first, but after some neat folding as indicated we found the fifth pig. It was wise not to be too clever when Germans and their Nazi friends were around, they surely would have reacted badly to see their Führer turning up as the missing swine.
Talking about grunters, in the backyard our coal storage next to the shed had become a secret shelter for a pig that supposed to get fat for the coming Yuletide.
This was not the huge success Dad thought it would be and I wonder if he considered it a risky business, as one was not allowed to keep such a farm animal in a residential area.

Understandable it was grinded into us not to talk about Dad’s bestial intentions, so a lot of hush-hush went on. Until the day of reckoning, all went according to plan. Dad was a big and strong-armed man, but on the day that the knives came out, his hand must have been not all that steady. He knew one wrong move and the whole neighbourhood would know what he is up to. Our pig was not that big, we just didn’t have enough leftovers to fatten the beast, but it was still a handful mind you. Dad did not want any sticky beaks from any quarters, so we missed out on the bloody drama too. Blood did flow of course, animal and… human, and the pig screeched his head off, but somehow the scene in that small and narrow coal shed stayed a private matter. Dad felt good; there was meat on the table and Christmas looked a lot brighter.