Its a dirty job

Our Mangalitza Boar, Thor, has been causing problems today, over and above the ones he usually causes that is. The horse bothering confused porker has been in solitary confinement with a selection of back issues of Practical Pig Keeping is an effort to cure him of his horse fixation and get him interested in making bacon.

As he can climb a stock fence the plan was that he should be confined in the small pig pen that is fenced off by five bar gates. To do this the almost barn had to be sectioned off and the wall that was knocked down around Christmas restored. This was fairly straightforward, I found an old five bar gate and used one of the three foot field gates to halve the barn and a sheet of corrugated tin from when we demolished the old lean to to repair the wall. After half of the allotted time the pig pen was finished, a five bar gate high secure metal enclosure.

Thor was installed having been found trying to drag a ladder in (only he knows why) to solitary. Pam and Bridget did the squealing with delight thing again as the boar strutted his stuff around the pen.

I left them to it, confident that all would be well, Thor would know what to do.

I got on with the next dirty job, unblocking the drain, our septic tank was emptied earlier in the week but we were still under threat from aggressive number twos who were refusing to let water flow freely. Sometimes smallholding is such joy.

Finally after being rewarded by the sound of running water several hundred feet away I coiled up the plastic pipework that I had used to clear the blockage and put it away ready for next time. A successful day. Except for a large Mangalitza Boar chasing horses around the Corral OK. He can climb 5 bar gates as well as fences.

He is back in solitary.

Without the ladder.

Day 3 30 30 Lvl 14 Hill 12.6 km (Permission to Land, The Darkness)

Dont frighten the horses!

There were several points today where activities could have descended into chaos. Observers watching a fat bloke "running" up and down the lane being either the chaser or chasee of pigs might argue the toss and say it had but at the end of play I am happy with the results of our honest labours.

Kayleigh and Kurry were moved from the plush interior of the stables to the new goat house at the end of the kennel block. This entails fencing off 12 feet of the concrete runway with a nice shiny metal gate giving Kayleigh the agoraphobic Anglo Nubian a nice sun terrace. Once installed in new quarters she spent most of her time leaning against the walls complaining the sky was falling in or hiding behind the hay rack as the horses were looking at her in a funny way. Kurry took it all in his stride and danced around in a highly entertaining way oblivious to his mothers phobias.

The newly purchased hurdles formed a barrier across the yard and for the first time livestock entering the yard were faced with a barrier that at least looked like one, not the usual collection of strategically placed vehicles, wheelbarrows and wishful thinking, this being the only thing stopping whatever beast it was heading off to the hills.

Today's beasts were stampeding pigs who, having not been fed breakfast were keen to tell me of the error of my ways. I led the way and soon had all the pigs crammed with some enthusiasm into the stable, a slight faux pas on my side was not having been confident this would work I had failed to leave any real food in the stable to occupy the curious pork until the door was shut. With a squeal of "Back its a trap" they all ran back out of the door and back down the lane hoping that the breakfast fairies had been in their absence.

This continued until two of the three little pigs were safe in the stable with Iggle and Piggle, one of the little pigs being a bit more wary than its siblings refused to leave the safety of the Bonsai Mountain.

Thor was then persuaded to leave the med bay, say goodbye to Apollo and get in amongst the Mangalitzas Pam and Bridget. Here a transformation took place. Our boar of questionable sexuality suddenly became all boarish. Drooling over everything he marked the perimeter of the pen with foamy flob and tiddled over everyone and everything while the girls made idiots of themselves and squealed and squeaked with delight every time Thor strutted by. He even managed a couple of attempted mounts, bossed the girls around who unbelievably became all passive and stole their food.

Confident that Thor now knew his place, his purpose and status in the animal kingdon I left him to get on with chopping wood (there is a saga re wood, oil, heating, sulky rayburns and clever electricians, but you will have to wait) while he got on with what he had been bought for.

Quite why some four minutes later he was back under Apollos belly rubbing himself in a most undignified manner and frightening the horses is a question that only he can answer. I suppose true love conquers all, and that includes fences.

New definition

The torrential rain has turned what is usually a nice dry pig pen into something that resembles the area in front of the main stage at Glastonbury. A large section of the roof blowing off the amost barn also added to the potential misery of the trainee sausages. Being the kind forward thinking type I had already ordered a lorry load of straw middle of last week. Twice they failed to show up, then I got a call, be with you Friday morning. So here we are Sunday, midday, torrential rain, frogs kayaking in the lane, and the phone rings, be with you Thursday. Cheers. Poor pigs. They risked drowning. Thankfully help was at hand and after giving the secret code words via the miracle of wireless telegraphy (do you want some money?) a cheerful member of the militia turned up in an armoured vehicle and dropped off some more feed for the horses we havent got and some bedding for the pigs.

Two minor difficulties (only two?) one being the bale of straw was around a ton in weight and would need shifting once delivered by hand, and the second was that half an hour previous to the delivery I had been playing with Thor (nothing sordid) the lad likes a back rub, so he got one, and a few carrots and basically a bit of man boar bonding took place. No real dramas, except that when getting in a pigsty with six sows in season I suspect its written somewhere in the how to guide, that you really should avoid physical contact with a boar. The sows were in raptures, firstly over having a new bed delivered, but secondly that yours truly smelt like a male pig (no jokes please) and this led to a rather exciting bed making session for all concerned.

Bridget the biggest Mangalitza made it quite clear she would be first in any que, driving off the competition as I carried the straw through to her boudior by the armful. Being leered at by a female pig (again no jokes, I'll make the necessary ones) is quite disconcerting as you go about your lawful business. Eventually the sexual inuendos became to much to bear so I baled out (see, jokes aplenty) and with Bridget chasing after me grunting the piggie equivlent of take me now or lose me forver I clambered over the the metal work that I hoped would save me from a new pork sensation. Once the safe side of the five bar gate I stopped to watch Bridgets attempt to mate with the remainder of the bale, it now smelling as much like a male pig as me (leave it!)

This was, I thought as I headed back to the safety of the cottage, bringing a whole new meaning to the term humping bales.

Boom Boom!

I thank you!

I'm here all week.

Seeing things

The weather was kind to us today as the concretathon continued in the Corral OK. The ponies and Thor watched from the battlefield of Oak Bank and urged us to get the job done quickly so they could have dry hooves. The downpour overnight meant part of the morning was spent digging the drainage ditch that will go alongside the concrete pad but by 9.45 George was in action.

I must admit to having a bit of a downer for the first four barrow loads, then a whole host of why am I doing this thoughts for the next four, followed by some really dark thoughts as the next four loads combined with the previous only covered the first three feet. As we were doing over 15 feet even with my math it was going to be a long day.
Perseverance is the key and slowly slowly the mountain of dry ingredients was transformed into a very neat concrete pad. Rocky kept me company for part of the day, he replaced Spotty who dutifully watched every shovel full and followed every barrow load and didn't put a paw wrong. Rocky on the other paw thought his best occupation was to be a trip hazard or to drain the buckets of water.
Mid afternoon saw the days task completed. I chose to ignore the mangalitza piglet digging up the driveway, putting it down to a figment on my imagination. This was a very active figment who just before dark climbed the fence and returned to the pig pen when the evening carrots were delivered.

This time Rocky managed to resist the temptation to add an interesting pattern to the concrete pad.

Outside looking in

Thor got himself the wrong side of the ring feeder and being a ham sandwich short of a picnic stayed there until help arrived. Meanwhile the Mangalitza piglets have found another way out of the pig pen, its so secret that they forget how they have got out and run around the outside squealing like...erm...well pigs really until yours truly opens the gate and stops them exercising the calories off.

My new hobby

Speed fencing. Not the skipping up and down waving one arm in the air trying to poke an opponent with a "foil" (give me a broadsword any day) no, this is trying to repair damaged fences while keeping animals the right side of broken fence.
The fun started yesterday afternoon, the pigs were exploring the garden, again. Pam and Bridget made a real bid for freedom and ran off down the track to see the Technohermit. They would have made it into the wilderness save for the lure of the magic feed bucket, that and Technohermit dancing on his bone pile shouting "pork for tea". Suitable chastised the Mangalitzas were put back in the pen, along with their three little piglets who had also joined the escape club. Doing the Sherlock Holmes bit I wondered how they had managed to get out of the garden garden having jumped the fence, they had got out of the garden because I had let them out. But the garden garden, the patch devoid of life thanks to plague of goat, that showed no sign of disturbance, and the gate was shut. By half seven in the evening, when thoughts turn to cheap red and excess calorific intake, a strange grunting from the helipad confirmed that the pigs had a different way of escaping. Guinevere and Morgana were still in the pen, being well behaved Berkshires so they got a free go at the tasty treats put in the pen to coax everypig back. The hole in the fence was easy to find, it being massive, and thanks to some very deft hammer work by yours truly the three strands of barbed wire kept the beasts in their place. I also managed to complete task without striking self with hammer and without being bitten by inquisitive pig.

This evening the jobs list showed that I needed to inspect the fence at the top of Willow Rise. William has somehow managed to be in the yard two mornings in a row, if it was the Pgoor then all the ponies would be there. William had found an exit. I had to do the same and make it an ex exit. I soon found it, in fact the whole fence at the top of Willow Rise was on the floor, barely able to keep lagomorphs (live and learn! thanks) at bay let alone curious ponies. Despite the assistance from one of my little helpers who having black and white vision failed to see large yellow bucket in path so hit at some speed thus distributing the 1000 fencing staples contained therein a considerable distance. He of course sat and watched while I retrieved them, next week hes going to throw a ball to see if I can do other tricks.

Pretty soon the fence was upright once again, the exit had ceased to be, it was an ex exit. For now.

Its not a competition

No, its not a competition, and that's not a reference to who can take the best picture of the pigs (although my efforts with a Box Brownie below I think are are pretty good) no this is a reference to the apparent competition between the critters as to who can be the most annoying. Some how the two Mangalitzas managed to escape the big pen and were found loitering with intent in the garden.
The cunning plan to get them to follow the feed bucket was an epic fail as they found the rabbits quarters and spent an interesting fifteen minutes or so terrorising the long eared rodents.
Meanwhile in the big pen the well behaved piggies were rewarded with a couple of buckets of windfall plums and damsons as today's gale brought them down a plenty. The two naughty piggies eventually saw the error of their ways and made it back to the big pen in time for the nut fest, I had been collecting the fallen nuts as well while waiting for them to sort their lives out.
Morgana took the opportunity to hog the bath
and Iggle showed how clever she was by drinking straight from the hosepipe.

Keep it clean!

I don't know how people show Mangalitza pigs, they are as intent as Bernese Mountain Dogs on getting dirty, how to do keep them clean given this commitment to filth?

Double trouble

Sat relaxing with a cuppa last night all was well in my world until a strange grunting from underneath the front window sent the Berners into Dr Who mode, ie. hiding behind the sofa until the monsters have gone. Monsters turned out to be marauding Mangalitzas Pam the Pig and Bridget the Fidget. They were following their snouts and the wrong side of the wire. Anticipating an attempt to spring the piglets out of the slammer the high security doors were shut earlier in the day. I had hoped for a more imaginative escape attempt, you know, wooden vaulting horse, tunnel type, but 500kg of mobile pork battering ram lacked a certain finesse.

In fact Pammy and Bridget had no intention of breaking out their offspring, they were enjoying their freedom far too much. They dutifully followed the feed bucket down the lane and back into the big pen, which is where we discovered their escape route, an open gate. Not sure how that happened, probably yours truly not paying attention, I was just glad the Mangalitzas hadn't jumped the fence.

One reason, or rather two reasons why they are keen for time out from the pig pen is that Iggle and Piggle the OSB's are helping themselves to free milk!

Alien birth!

Fianlly the techno gremlin has been evicted, this is how Druid the piglet arrived, express delivery!

Emergency ward 10

There was a break in transmission yesterday, no update, the reason being Bridget the Managalitza, who has been living quite happily at the far end of the smallholding, not causing any bother at all, disappeared. Now a huge pig the size of a pygmy rhino is a hard thing to disappear, but she was gone, nowhere to be seen, ostensibly nowhere near the food trough. Now a beast that size off its food can only mean one thing. Trouble!
Armed with flaming torches and pitchforks we entered her lair, I say we, the Royal we, as in myself all alone as Tracey my beautiful and oh so patient wife knew better than to enter the pig wrestling championship. Bridget was in her bed, which was now several feet high and was only missing a big pink neon sign saying "Pig about to give birth!" as a final clue to events about to unfold. Trying to persuade said pig about to give birth to leave what in her mind is a carefully constructed birth pad and venture out into the dark, rainswept unknown was a challenge and I have to admit to it being the type of challenge that raised my pulse a few 100 beats per min as she made her displeasure known with several attempts to sever my legs blow the knee. Events were not helped when Morgana seeing a bucket of feed being swung around gatecrashed the party and disarmed me of said bucket. I let her off this playful pig banter and focused on Bridget who reluctantly wandered into the lane where I eventually got her within piglet range of the back stable. Several times.
After a few dozen sprints for freedom and a pretty good attempt to pole vault back into the pig pen Bridget was cornered in the back stable where much to her surprise she found a lovely clean bed, running water and electric lights. She lay down and got on with it while I steadied my nerves with a large single malt. Never having seen a pig birth before I was keen not to miss the action, and now having seen a pig birth I can honestly say its unlike any other birth I have seen. Its like something out of a Ridley Scott film, a bloody noisy traumatic alien mess. Once the video gremlins have been evicted fom this site I will put a clip on which shows the piglet popping like a champagne cork from its mums bits with the sow shooting in the other direction just as fast and making a noise like a disabled Stuka.


But it was worth the trauma to see these little piglets arrive in the world, there were only two, not named yet, but its the names are bound to be linked to the Solstice. Or the film Alien.
So the sun rose and I went to bed. Just for an hour or so. Didn't want to spoil myself.

Prime pork

I spent ages last night holding the trotter of Pam the Mangalitza while she potched around the stable, building a huge mound of straw, demolishing the huge ound of straw, building it back up again, knocking it down, turning over the water trough, rooting up the rubber mats that make the concrete extra cosy. In all she was a pain, moithering around and giving every sign that the end was nigh. Surely, I thought, tonight must be the night.

So as I dozed leaning on the five bar gate at the entrance of the stable I toyed with the idea of going to bed, but Pam would do something more convincing that piglets were about to pop out so I endured the lack of sleep until 12.30 am. Pam settled, nothing was happening. I crept indoors and grabbed an hours kip fully clothed on the sofa. 1.30 am I was back at the gate, Pam was doing her build it up knock it down routines. Disappointed I went back to the sofa, dismissing the idea of getting the sun lounger and sleeping in the stable doorway as going a bit too far.

2.45 am excitement as I found Pam doing something different, she had got her snout through the handle of her feed bowl and was really rather cross. Then she began pawing the ground and making funny noises. This must be it. 3.30 am I was about to give in and she lay down and began grunting, legs going like she was riding an invisible porcine bike. Nil pork delivered despite maximim revolutions. 4am I gave in and went to bed bed. 5.45 am back on duty, curses, still no new additions. So I dawdled through my normal routine hoping to see some action before setting off across the mountains to work in the valley that time forgot. I left at 6.30. Sat at my desk by 8am.

8.05 a phone call from Tracey, my beautiful and oh so patient wife. Guess what has just arrived while you were driving. So after all that I missed the birth of the lil pigs, but the wait was worth it, six lovely little piglets, 2 girls 4 boys. Stable Sprite flew over to reassure all that Pam had finished and all was well. I got home early evening and got my first hands on with our new rare breeds. As I drove back excited at the prospect of meeting the newbies I recalled a bit of advice from one of the local militia, a veteran pig keepers daughter told us that the bestest ever advice her dad had given her about a farrowing sow was to just let them get on with it. Presumably he would advise a pig keeper to sleep as well.

The drought ends......for now

The rain sent everything diving for cover today, including us, and at one stage there was quite a collection of animals under the eaves of Rock HQ, perhaps they thought it was an Ark.

Hetty made herself useful by licking the front window clean, the deposits she left behind took the shine off her efforts though. Ambrose who has been released from maximum security by my beautiful and oh so patient, yet too soft to goats wife gave him the born free moment. He totally ruined this by getting into the veg garden and rooting up the new strawberry plants. Suitably chastised he is hiding, once found he is back in the stockade.

As we were confined to barracks we sorted out the pigs. 140 pound of sausage bagged up, belly roasts rolled and stuffed, various offensive looking bits of pig were cooked for the dogs, and as is traditional a nice slice of pork belly was in the pan while the rest of the pig was delicately placed in Mr Whirlpool, who is now back in action thanks to yours truly fixing the fuse box. This had the added effect of fixing the pantry lights, so no more groping in the dark for gin and settling for baked beans.

True to form Pam has refused to deliver little piglets, even though its D-Day (due day) but she seems to have changed shape again, and maybe producing milk. As we have no stool low enough I refrained the urge to milk her, we enough milk in the fridge anyway. Its easier to get it from the Co Op than risk losing your fingers milking a pig.