The same waning ag affiliation pervades a beachfront community like Santa Barbara. The stereotype here is one of bleached hairdos and bleached mansions. But this is precisely where I am, at the heart of the town's fairgrounds, eyeing those four pigs who look fixin' to motor. Dum da da dum goes a mini megaphone. The starting gate rises, and the pigs are off.
Dust clouds puff off surprisingly dainty hooves.
They scamper past a checkered flag, scratch scratch scratch up a wooden ramp, and march it straight into those eight ounces of frozen dairy goodness. It's all over in five seconds. We've shared this quirky little diversion. We've learned some pig facts. And if Cook's prediction proves true, the five-second marathon will become an enduring piece of the collective Santa Barbara conscience.