Ribs on the Run

They’re fast, smart and--some would say--cleaner than a few humans at the Los Angeles County Fair. They’re racing pigs, and they’re all the rage.

On an impossibly hot day in Pomona this week, at least 100 people from the sparsely populated fairgrounds gathered to watch a porcine quartet scamper around a diminutive racetrack.

No other outdoor, unshaded venue drew a crowd like the little piggies. Just next door, two bored elephants stood harnessed, but unridden. And down the road, the “ejection seat” that promised to propel visitors 160 feet into the air not only had no line, it had no apparent operator.

DeWayne and Marge Woods, of Miami (pronounced “Mi-ama”), Okla., were not surprised by the relatively large crowd their pigs attracted. The couple got into pig racing five years ago because it proved more lucrative than their old business: running a barbecued pork ribs stand.

“The income was inconsistent,” Marge said of the booth. “We still eat pork on occasion, but it’s never anyone we know.”

The Woodses hitch up their truck and air-conditioned Swifty Swine Productions trailer to travel to fairs and livestock shows 11 months out of the year, Marge said. As they journey, they buy new athletes and sell their older, heavier ones on a regular basis.

The pigs are only raced until they’re four months old. After that, they get too big and the stress of competition gets to be too much on their hooves.

“It’s like me,” said the portly (and, incidentally, pink) DeWayne. “If I go out there and run around it would be too much for me. It’s the same for them.”

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Squiggly sprinters that are not sold are donated to 4-H Club members, who raise them for the livestock show at the following year’s fair. After this second fair appearance, the pigs are usually put on the auction block--and ultimately the chopping block.

On a farm, porkers are generally slaughtered by their four-month birthday, but the pigs butchered after the fair are typically older, DeWayne said.

“There are probably a few fanatic [animal rights activists] out there, and they might complain,” DeWayne said of the pigs’ scheduled demise. “But most people are levelheaded enough to see we’re stretching the pigs’ life expectancy out from one year to two.”

And what a life it is.

Cold water runs through six spigots in the well-lit, air-conditioned trailer that the pigs retire to between their five daily races.

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The fuzzy mammals are segregated according to age and breed in six clean, gated communities within the vehicle. Their waste falls into a trough, which is cleaned regularly so the pen rarely smells. A vet visits them monthly. They are shampooed every morning, and they stick to a healthy diet of protein pellets.

Miss Piggy never had it so good.

“The pigs are really well-trained,” said Hank Cole, 60, of Whittier. He and his wife, Bee, have been coming to the races since they began. It is a regular stop on their tour of the fair because “it is always fun.”

As they entered the gates of “Hamhock Downs,” the Coles were each handed a number by representatives of Food-4-Less, the official corporate sponsor for the games.

Since parimutuel betting is reserved for the fair’s horse races, the warehouse food sellers have substituted giveaways for wagers. Visitors holding the number that corresponds to the winning pig receive a coupon for a free pound of bacon.