This little piggy...
I have seen a lot of amazing things in my life, and the birth of a guinea hog has to be in, at least, the top 10.
We have three sows and two boars milling about on the farm. We knew the moment that we got them and put them in the same pen that soon we would have little ones running around. The mommas got fat and would trot around the pen, but never really settling down anywhere; perhaps a moment or two under the shade cloth, a moment or two in the wallow, but never anything that I would call nesting behavior, until...
The farm is an expansive place and I tend to find myself at one point or another all day, every day, until I go inside at night. The other day, I was at the far point of the farm when I heard a squeal. Farms have a rhythm and you tend to hear the same noises every day whether it be cows mooing, or donkeys braying. The dogs tend to be great alarms because they only bark when something is wrong. The pigs will grunt and snuffle all day, but by and large they do not squeal and then, when they do, it is in a lower register. What I heard that day was a smaller squeal and it was not in the music of the farm.
My birthday is coming up and we had toyed with the idea of culling one of the pigs, because it was time, and also because they would sometimes be a nuisance. I have never done anything like that before. I have worked in and around restaurants for quite some time but whenever a pig was brought before me, it was sometimes whole, but always clean, cold, and quite dead lying on a stainless steel table in an immaculate kitchen.
This experience on an actual farm has shown me a lot and this was going to be a rite of passage. It was something that I had always been keenly aware of, but never really a part of. I could look at the meat and tell that a pig was well fed, but with what? I could tell you that it had gotten a lot of exercise but how far? To and fro in a four foot square pen? I knew where this pig came from, what it ate because I had to get up in the morning and at night to feed him. I knew that it had a large pen to wander around in because I would daily have to go out there and avoid ankle breaking craters to get at them and make sure they were ok. So, the thought for me was, when the time came would I be able to...do the deed?
I thought I could. At the moment I was asked, I was iffy. Later I became more committed, more resolute. Primarily because that is what would have to be done. There could be no real half steps once the process was put in motion. We were talking about the life of an animal. It was worthy of respect.
These were the things that were on my mind as I went to investigate the noise. The boars had been making pretty deep ruts the past couple of days and I assumed they were looking for something, moles perhaps. When I arrived at the pen, they were tussling over something and I looked to see a small black thing being pulled between them. First thought, rat and for a split second, I was kinda proud of them. Then, after a quick head count, I only saw four pigs. Where was the fifth?
Gretchen had settled down behind a hay bale, out of sight and was quietly enduring the heat and having babies.. I will spare the graphic details, but sadly only two made it. There is a lot of building material around here, so I set to work building a farrowing stable around her, using cattle panels, and zip ties. Then, I made sure she had water and spread some of the hay around her.
It took some time, but I watched the two piglets come out, then find her teet and start their life. It was getting on into the afternoon and I thought I could sit there for the rest of the day and see what happened from then on. Then my mind shifted to more practical matters like shade and keeping her cool. I was fixated on those things when the initial rush began to wash away. Sure, I had work to do, but every time I went in and out of that pen, I would glance at the boars. I would shoo them away with a shovel when I would come in, and when I would go out, they would slink back over to the hay bale.
Within 48 hours, the other two sows went into labor. With them, it was less intense because they did not stop and lay down. They did not nest, so I had to run them each into their own pen, secure it and again deal with the boars. Three sows had given birth to nine piglets and I am not sure how many were lost. I stayed up all night, checking them every hour on the hour. Hosing them, feeding them and then popping back inside to get online and learn more about what I should be doing and what I should have done; how it could have been done better.
Now I still check them, every hour on the hour, but one of the main things that I see when I walk into those pens is not just he cute little piglets, but my anger at the boars. Most times, when I am out and about, you will find me with a sharp knife on my hip. My birthday is fast approaching and in the last few days I have seen so much life and death. Am I going to have any trouble taking one of those boars to market? Considering every time I walk into those pens, every hour on the hour and every time I look at one of those piglets, and every time I look at those boars, I hear that squeal, I put my hand on my knife, and doubt I will have that much trouble at all.
We have three sows and two boars milling about on the farm. We knew the moment that we got them and put them in the same pen that soon we would have little ones running around. The mommas got fat and would trot around the pen, but never really settling down anywhere; perhaps a moment or two under the shade cloth, a moment or two in the wallow, but never anything that I would call nesting behavior, until...
The farm is an expansive place and I tend to find myself at one point or another all day, every day, until I go inside at night. The other day, I was at the far point of the farm when I heard a squeal. Farms have a rhythm and you tend to hear the same noises every day whether it be cows mooing, or donkeys braying. The dogs tend to be great alarms because they only bark when something is wrong. The pigs will grunt and snuffle all day, but by and large they do not squeal and then, when they do, it is in a lower register. What I heard that day was a smaller squeal and it was not in the music of the farm.
My birthday is coming up and we had toyed with the idea of culling one of the pigs, because it was time, and also because they would sometimes be a nuisance. I have never done anything like that before. I have worked in and around restaurants for quite some time but whenever a pig was brought before me, it was sometimes whole, but always clean, cold, and quite dead lying on a stainless steel table in an immaculate kitchen.
This experience on an actual farm has shown me a lot and this was going to be a rite of passage. It was something that I had always been keenly aware of, but never really a part of. I could look at the meat and tell that a pig was well fed, but with what? I could tell you that it had gotten a lot of exercise but how far? To and fro in a four foot square pen? I knew where this pig came from, what it ate because I had to get up in the morning and at night to feed him. I knew that it had a large pen to wander around in because I would daily have to go out there and avoid ankle breaking craters to get at them and make sure they were ok. So, the thought for me was, when the time came would I be able to...do the deed?
I thought I could. At the moment I was asked, I was iffy. Later I became more committed, more resolute. Primarily because that is what would have to be done. There could be no real half steps once the process was put in motion. We were talking about the life of an animal. It was worthy of respect.
These were the things that were on my mind as I went to investigate the noise. The boars had been making pretty deep ruts the past couple of days and I assumed they were looking for something, moles perhaps. When I arrived at the pen, they were tussling over something and I looked to see a small black thing being pulled between them. First thought, rat and for a split second, I was kinda proud of them. Then, after a quick head count, I only saw four pigs. Where was the fifth?
Gretchen had settled down behind a hay bale, out of sight and was quietly enduring the heat and having babies.. I will spare the graphic details, but sadly only two made it. There is a lot of building material around here, so I set to work building a farrowing stable around her, using cattle panels, and zip ties. Then, I made sure she had water and spread some of the hay around her.
It took some time, but I watched the two piglets come out, then find her teet and start their life. It was getting on into the afternoon and I thought I could sit there for the rest of the day and see what happened from then on. Then my mind shifted to more practical matters like shade and keeping her cool. I was fixated on those things when the initial rush began to wash away. Sure, I had work to do, but every time I went in and out of that pen, I would glance at the boars. I would shoo them away with a shovel when I would come in, and when I would go out, they would slink back over to the hay bale.
Within 48 hours, the other two sows went into labor. With them, it was less intense because they did not stop and lay down. They did not nest, so I had to run them each into their own pen, secure it and again deal with the boars. Three sows had given birth to nine piglets and I am not sure how many were lost. I stayed up all night, checking them every hour on the hour. Hosing them, feeding them and then popping back inside to get online and learn more about what I should be doing and what I should have done; how it could have been done better.
Now I still check them, every hour on the hour, but one of the main things that I see when I walk into those pens is not just he cute little piglets, but my anger at the boars. Most times, when I am out and about, you will find me with a sharp knife on my hip. My birthday is fast approaching and in the last few days I have seen so much life and death. Am I going to have any trouble taking one of those boars to market? Considering every time I walk into those pens, every hour on the hour and every time I look at one of those piglets, and every time I look at those boars, I hear that squeal, I put my hand on my knife, and doubt I will have that much trouble at all.
Comments
Post a Comment