What's time to a pig?
A salesman is traveling door to door in the country. At the last house, down a long, dusty road, the salesman knocks and is greeted by a rather stolid farmer. The farmer laconically agrees to hear the man's pitch but insists that first he must feed his pig, would the salesman mind waiting until he finishes this chore? The salesman eagerly agrees and waits on the porch.
Minutes then hours pass as the sun slides down the sky. The salesman, flummoxed and frustrated, goes searching for the man who has kept him waiting so long.
Around the back of farmhouse the salesman enters a large orchard at the far end of which, in the distance, he spies the farmer in the most peculiar posture: holding a rotund and placid pig up in the air, snout to tree limb. The pig slowly eats one apple at time as the farmer moves the pig from fruit to fruit.
Aghast, the salesman approaches and demands, incredulously, "What on earth are you doing?"
"I'm feeding my pig" replies the farmer.
"But doesn't that take a lot of time" insists the salesman.
Says the farmer, "What's time to a pig?"