...and an unnecessarily elaborate story...

Dusk brought with it an unexpected chill that settled on the under-dressed fairgoers in a hurry. My hands pressed deeper into my coat pockets, seeking warmth that wasn't there.

The midway was a commotion of flashing neon lights and the harsh squeaking of children blowing into pink plastic trumpets.

I hadn't been to a fair since junior high school - and back then such carnivals were simply an excuse for a pre-teen to sample mascara and practice at being coy amidst the loitering pre-teen boys.

Of course times had changed. And my mission this night didn't allow for childhood reminiscing.

I had questions, see. Questions that could only be answered at the Cumberland County Fair. Questions that could only be answered by a pig.

And not just any old swine. I needed to see a specific pig, one who'd I'd heard about but never met. One who had eluded me until now. One who had no real name but who I had begun calling simply, "The Pig."

I had it on good authority that the pig was amongst the farm animal crowd that had congregated here. It was a known hangout for his sort. An informant also got wind of some shady blue-ribbon dealings taking place in the quiet corners of the fairgrounds. Dealings that stunk of the pig.

Following my nose, I headed down Stall Alley. I attempted to question the sheep, but they weren't talking. The pig, it seemed, had already gotten to them.

Discreetly I meandered through a high class cattle neighborhood. Again I was met with turned backs and zero information. I circled back, frustrated at the wasted effort, when a shuffle in the dust caught my attention.

"Psst! You lookin' fer that pig, right?"

I nodded, stepped closer.

"I seen him just this mornin' hangin' out in that pen right up the midway. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Thank you," I called out as my pace quickened toward Downtown Fairground.

The midway was a long stretch crowded by locals. But just ahead I caught sight of the 4-H Pen. The pig, I assumed, was likely inside. I considered called for back-up, but there wasn't time. I stepped toward the pen, lowering my head to peer between the wooden slats. And there I saw...

Nothing.

While there was evidence that the pig had indeed been here recently, he was gone now. Nothing left but a fenced-in pile of sawdust.

Some young 4-Hers nearby claimed to know nothing of his whereabouts. I didn't believe them, so I ducked behind a corner and waited. When the group began to disperse I trailed one unsuspecting fellow directly to the top-secret 4-H headquarters/food booth.

A woman at the window tried to sell me a hot dog.

"I'm not here for that," I said. "I need to see the pig."

The woman looked at me quizzically. I couldn't tell if she was in on a cover-up or just another pawn in the dark world of underground pig trafficking. I flashed my camera from my pocket to show her I meant business.

"The pig for the raffle. I need to see him."

"Oh! Well sure!" Finally I was getting some answers. "He's right up there in the 4-H pen."

The run-around again. I wasn't getting anywhere. "It seems he's been moved. Any idea where the pig has gone to? It's imperative that I see him."

"Ah yes, someone must have shown him this morning. Ask around by the livestock office." She points across the way to the showing arena and I move toward it.

The thick layer of sawdust inside makes it hard to move with my usual stealth. I dodge a cluster of children who are playing outside the livestock office. They all manage to run safely back to "glue," much to the chagrin of the "it" child.

The children's parents are stationed outside the office door - perhaps as livestock guards. I can't tell if they're armed. I'm certain someone has already been sent to warn the pig that I'm here.

"Pardon me," I started. "I'm looking for the 4-H raffle pig. I know he's here somewhere."

A woman stepped from the group and motioned me to follow.

Around a corner stood a row of pens, each with its own snorting or sleeping occupant. We walked up to the first stall and the woman gestured, "This is the pig."

So, pig. We finally meet! I have raffle tickets and if I win you I'm going to...

Wow. Look at the little feller. He's not quite as threatening as I'd imagined - kind of sweet, to tell the truth.

Hearing my coworker Wendy's tales of last year's pig had me all excited (all the bacon I could ask for! Ham to last the year - maybe longer!)

But now that I'm looking at him, "hungry" is a feeling I can't seem to muster.

I get the whole "Circle of Life" thing, but dang it - after all the raffle ticket buying and running around the fair, it seems I've gone soft on the pig.

Note to self: in the future, don't try and meet the food.