Many years ago in the "hills" of West Virginia four brothers with whom I am acquainted wandered out on foot one early winter day to visit a neighbor's still a mile or so away. They stayed there and drank for most of the evening. At some point he soberest of the bunch (by a small margin, I'm certain) saw that the weather was turning bad and persuaded the rest that it was time to start the long walk home. After an hour of staggering through pelting snow, they arrived at their farmhouse. Their father smiled at their condition but expressed concern that one of the brothers didn't make the return trip.

One of the boys explained, "Oh, he passed out on the way back here, Pop. But don't worry about him. We built a fence around him so the hogs wouldn't eat him."