One of my favorite childhood memories is our whole family taking off for a week at the end of August every year to spend time at my Grandparent’s farm about 20 mi. from Des Moines, and about 350 miles from us, north of Chicago.
My grandfather would , for pennies, buy tinfoil trays of moldy sweet rolls, and he’d let me throw this crap into a 55 gallon drum hooked up to a tube feeding into a trough made I think out of an old corroded Yankee gutter, or something with that shape, which is where the hogs would collect and drink away. I used to like stirring the slop in this 55 gallon drum with a big stick, and the smell still lingers in my nostrils of just how malodorous this brew was.
BTW, horrible story!
I went duck hunting, back in the day, with the sons of the commanding officer of the army ammunition plant. It was a very special treat.
One morning we left our ducks at the boat ramp and continued to hunt. When we returned, the hogs that were lose in the leased cornfields ate all of our ducks. The Col’s youngest son was outraged. I was pissed. all that hard work that was just hog feed. Nothing left but some feathers and lots of feet