It was a day of high excitement in Espasante. The town was celebrating, with the rest of Spain, the arrival of Los Reyes Magos — the three wise kings — who distribute sweets and presents to its children. It was also the day that Anton the town pig was raffled off.

The custom of keeping a pig and disposing of it via a sweepstake originated in the 19th century when a hog washed ashore on the beach of San Anton after a tempest. The Espasantans named the animal after its place of land-fall, decided it was a gift from God, and therefore communal property, and sold it at auction in the pig killing season. The proceeds were used to defray the expenses of the feast of Saint Anthony, who is one of the town’s patrons. Ever since, the organizers of the fiesta have bought a piglet in June, christened it Anton whether boar or sow (the present incarnation is, strictly speaking, an Antonia), hung a brass bell round its neck and set it loose to roam the town. For the next six months, Anton has the freedom of Espasante. People put out leftovers and tidbits on their doorsteps, and the pig is welcome to any windfalls it can scavenge from their orchards.



I had tickets for the raffle for my nephews back in England, so I went in to Espasante to size up Anton 2009. I found her close to her bronze statue, demonstrating a familiar lack of bladder control and wondered if she’d been drinking the local brew, which is a noted diuretic.

This wasn’t an unfair supposition to make on her behalf: A large variety of creatures consume alcohol in the wild, ranging from bumble-bees to elephants. Hooch finds its way into their diets via the fermenting fruit, sap and nectar of various plants, and many exhibit signs of inebriation after they’ve enjoyed a good feed. Their weakness for the substance au naturel is understandable: ethanol is a rich food, with 75 percent more calories than refined sugar, and its distinctive aroma makes it easy to locate. This natural thirst has been exploited by man since the dawn of history. Aristotle noted that wild monkeys were caught by setting out jars of palm wine — the creatures would drink, then pass out, leaving them easy prey. The same method of trapping was still in use in the 19th century and commented on by Darwin in the opening chapter of “The Descent of Man,” when drawing similarities between humanity and the rest of creation. Monkeys could get drunk like men. They also got hangovers: “On the following morning they were very cross and dismal; they held their aching heads with both hands, and wore a most pitiable expression: when beer or wine was offered them, they turned away with disgust, but relished the juice of lemons.”

Interestingly, a few species of mammals including the slow loris and the pentailed treeshrew (with which we share a common ancestor) not only have a predilection for alcohol but also a natural tolerance. When the latter species find an especially rich batch of fermented palm nectar in their native Malaysian rainforests, they’ll visit it several times each night and consume the equivalent, in human terms, of nine standard drinks, without any evident deterioration in their behavior. Perhaps we drank deep before we were fully human?

Pigs, however, don’t come across much alcohol in the wild. But what about the tame variety? The propensity of a variety of domesticated animals to drink is well documented. Clearly, it’s cruel to force alcohol on them — tantamount to poisoning them: Mad Jack Mytton killed one of his horses when he made it bumper a bottle of port after it had won a race. However, some, including dogs, goats, cows, and pigs, develop a taste for it on their own. Aristotle noted that Greek swine became inebriated “when they were filled with the husks of pressed grapes.” A similar phenomenon was common in colonial-era New England, where cider production and consumption, in per capita terms, were colossal, and where hogs were fed on windfalls and pomace (the pulp from the bottom of the cider press) both of which ferment. Their subsequent inebriation was often a matter of comment, and may have been the inspiration for the term “hog-whimpering drunk.”

I decided to ask Jesus, a friend at the bar of Bodega 82, if Anton drank. No, was his answer. Every incarnation of Anton was kept dry. After all, memories of the tragic fate of Anton 1998 were still fresh. This particular avatar of the porcine castaway had over-indulged at Espasante’s annual Sardiniella, or Sardine-eating feast, and all that salty fish had given him a raging thirst. He’d sated it with several liters of red wine, laid down for a siesta in the sun and perished from a heart attack.

No one has claimed Anton 2009. The winning ticket No. is 8920 and its owner had until January 21 to come forward, but alas, did not, and the pig will be auctioned in the town plaza this week.