The silence of the pigs

Exactly as planned.

That’s how taking the pigs to their final destination went, exactly as planned. By the time they were let out of their pig pen they were like a well oiled machine, each a cog knowing exactly what to do, each pig knowing its duty was to get in the van and enjoy the ride.

That was how it went last year. The fear of failure, having heard of all the horror stories other pig keepers had recounted about their efforts to get to the abattoir I was determined I wouldn’t fall victim to insufficient preparation. I spent over a week rehearsing the main event, and when it happened it was so easy, too easy, I forgot the nightmares of what might have been.

Wouldn’t it be nice if things went as well in reality as they do in your head?

Last year we spent a week training the pigs to follow the bucket along a well prepared pig proof route lined with bales and corrugated steel, up a trotter friendly wooden ramp into the safe confines of a waiting Toyota van lined with more bales and baited with the rosiest juiciest apples sliced up and laid out in tempting patterns, just in case the pigs didn’t feel like a full breakfast these offerings were irresistible. If memory serves correct it was a really sunny day and the whole operation took less than ten minutes and we had allowed an hour just to load them. Within the hour they were safely handed over to the nice man with the stun gun and sent to piggy heaven. I felt wretched about it but consoled myself the next day with slow roast organic home grown pork, and the pigs we raised have lasted us all year.

This time, well I know what went wrong, from the outset I was too confident, complacent even, for now I am a seasoned pig keeper what could possibly go wrong? Quite a lot actually and not bothering to get the pigs used to the trailer was just the start and when they were confronted by this instead of their usual trough containing breakfast they were rightly cautious and refused to get in. Then as I was so sure they would go in I didn’t spend a day constructing a huge barrier either side of the trailer to funnel them in, no instead I spent ten minutes putting up a flimsy barricade of bales, a broken gate and a bright green log trolley. You might argue I compounded my difficulties by not ensuring the pigs were very hungry so when faced with me and my bucket of standard pig feed they were more interested in exploring the world and finding much more interesting titbits. It was also raining making the ramp as slippery as an ice rink so when the standard pig feed was replaced by carrots and apples they were loathe to put a trotter on the silver metal ramp as they risked breaking a limb.

The dogs really helped, I must say, anyone trying to coax four nervous pigs into a strange six by ten trailer would find five Bernese Mountain Dogs careering around barking encouragement a real asset. Even more helpful than the canines were the sheep and goats who have no fear of new trailers and spotting an opportunity for another free breakfast pushed the reluctant pigs aside and were only prevented from breeching EU loading and carrying capacity regulations for small trailers by yours truly who by now had lost the plot and was wielding a fencing post like a samurai sword prepared to defend the pile of carrots held within to the death.

Luckily for me and the animal world in general Saint Tracey arrived with a bucket of goodies, disarmed me with a raised eyebrow and patiently sat in the back of the trailer and spoke soothing words to the perplexed Berkshires. These words fell like sugar coated pearls before the befuddled swine who eventually climbed into the back of the trailer with her.

All except one.

Dot is a particularly large Berkshire, massive shoulders and destined to be several hundred dinners. Perhaps aware of this destiny she refused to succumb to the lilting tones that soothed the other porkers and set off in the other direction. Now a word about Berkshires, they are particularly alert for pigs, whereas your Gloucester Old Spot for example has a world that exists in a circle five feet from its nose, head down, it knows its food is there somewhere type of personality suits it fine, the Berkshire on the other hand is a very heads up pig, ears pricked and it has a sense of adventure. Don’t ever think that they cant run either, Dot cleared the bales with the ease of a Grand National winner and ran off towards the stables. By the time I got there she was nowhere to be seen. A whiney of indignation indicated that she had surprised the shitland pony, Trevor, and Dot squeezed under the rails of his enclosure narrowly avoiding the very irate ponies flailing hooves.

Now even with two good arms I wouldn’t take on a nearly full grown pig as obviously agitated as Dot so as I ran away from her I consoled myself that no one could see my cowardice, she wasn’t really chasing me and we were definitely both running in the right direction. By the time we rounded the bend I had let her overtake me so Tracey could see that I was in control and bringing home the potential bacon. With Dot back in the make shift stockade we considered our options. Keeping Dot was not one of them; somehow we had to get her into the trailer.

We discovered another rule of smallholding in the process; usually animals can get through holes half their actual body size, especially if you don’t want them to. The opposite is also true, if you want to get an animal through a hole and it doesn’t want to then it needs to be twice the size of the animal, we discovered this as we tried to get Dot in through the trailer door, as we tried to push her in two could easily walk out through the same hole but it took all our strength to achieve this seemingly simple task. In case you didn’t know all pigs are fitted with a secret weapon, if you try to coerce them to do anything they squeal. This is so loud and so effective it renders those within hearing incapable of further movement. Its effect is similar to the siren fitted to the Stuka dive bomber whose screaming dive paralysed those on the ground with fear. As we attempted to lift the uncooperative pig and post her through the doorway she went off like a demon. Once again Tracey saved the day and somehow managed to shout above the hellish din instructions to place the pigs front legs on the door ledge, somehow I managed this and Tracey with her wonder woman powers picked up the quiet end and shoved the protesting pig inside.

Door shut we leant against the trailer exhausted whilst Dot sat and sulked sucking an apple. It was now half nine, still had plenty of time to make our slot at the abattoir where I planned to totally embarrass myself by jack knifing the trailer across the yard. Fortune smiled on me and I was able to get another driver, a nice man called Brian to do the deed for me, so yes I am still a trailer virgin. The trailer ramp went down and just like soldiers leaving a landing craft the pigs charged down the ramp. Once in the pen they demonstrated how stressful the journey was by eating bits of food they found in their new, if somewhat temporary bed and flirting with a couple of boars the other side of their gate. This is why we take them to this little abattoir, it’s a family run small concern suited to the needs of the small farmer and the animals final moments are free from torment and stress.

We said our goodbyes and left them, by the time we were home we knew they had shuffled off their mortal coils. The smallholding was quieter, and we set about the rest of our chores. This was only the start to a very traumatic day, when we got home all was not well with the sheep, suffice to say they were worried, which has a very different meaning to a sheep than you or I, but that’s another tale.