Trouble broke out at Westminster Farm today, as one pig accused another pig of taking too much swill from the trough. The disagreement flared when Pot-Bellied Tom was discovered to have eaten not only his own generous share of swill, but also a sizeable helping for his sire and grand-dam.
A jealous Gloucester Old Spot called Greg called the other farmyard animals round, and angrily waved a trotter at a gathering group of ruddy swains looking thoughtfully into the trough.
"Thanks to the swinish greed of Pot-Bellied Tom," he squealed, "Ordinary pigs like me are now in real danger of having our own modest consumption rudely checked. Oink."
"I have done nothing wrong," Tom told an inquisitive chicken, wiping swill from his snout. "There is nothing in the rules which my fellow pigs wrote which you can possibly get me for. Oink."
"Oi bain't too 'appy 'bout all this, me 'ansum," said one of the famished-looking swineherds. "Faarmer Giles, 'e do reckon there be a blimmin' great shortage o' swill all 'cross the 'ole wurrold. Arter all they fat great piggies 'as 'ad they fill, there bain't bugger all slops left for oi an' me mates. Oi tell 'ee true, if us so much as puts a finger in that there trough afore they piggies 'as glutted theyselves fit to burstin', they all sets up a mighty 'oller -'specially that fat bugger Tom - an' Farmer Giles, 'e come out wavin' 'ees gurt big stick at us 'n' utterin' all manner o' dire threats. 'Taint furr! 'Taint furr 't'all, I tell 'ee."
Pot-Bellied Tom then snorted derisively, raised his little curly tail and sprayed foul-smelling slurry all over the horny-handed rustic and his hapless fellow-labourers, before sinking his head deep into the trough again.