It wasn’t anything like rush hour in Halifax or Toronto. It wasn’t anything like rush hour in Peterborough or Truro. It was Lockeport’s version of the noon rush hour. Because Lockeport is an island, cars enter and exit the town by a single causeway. The majority of residents worked at the National Sea Products Fish Plant. At lunch time, many of them hurried home to West Head, Green Harbour, Brighton, Lydgate, and Allendale for lunch. Rush hour had no place in Dad’s world. Nope, he had one speed — slow and steady. Dad was the tortoise, while most people were the hare.
On the day in question Dad was on his way home to West Head at the same time as the plant workers left Lockeport for lunch. Dad had one passenger, a piglet he had purchased from his good friend, Ronnie Peterson. In their wisdom, they put the pig in a box and set it on the seat. After all, what could go wrong? WARNING: Never utter those words about anything that involves Dad.
Without warning, everything went haywire. The piglet jumped out of the box, hit the door handle, the door flew open, and the pig took off on a dead run. Traffic in both directions screeched to a halt. Men and women jumped out of their cars to help corral the AWOL pig. Not everyone was patient and understanding. Some blew their horns; others yelled and cursed because they only had a short lunch break. They could not risk returning late for work.
I would have thought the piglet ran off in the bushes and was never seen again. But no, it ran around snarling traffic and tripping people. At least story had a happy ending. Someone caught the pig. I suspect Dad tied the piglet in the truck. The plant workers got home for lunch and back on time.
Thank goodness Facebook had not yet been invented. Otherwise, someone in Lockeport would have posted, “Does anyone know why the traffic was stopped near Dot and Theodore Hiltz’s?” Everyone in Facebook land would be laughing at one more far-fetched, but true, escapade of Eugene Roache.
Just another run-of-the-mill day for Dad.