Well, not soon enough to suit me! It all started the other day when our son Greg had his car detailed. Later that evening, he told his father, "Dad, the man I took the car to has some pigs for sale." Howard's ears perked up, for they had been tossing around the idea of raising some porkers. Greg has ample space on his farm and suitable pens for the porcine project.
"They are Chester Whites," Greg said enthusiastically, "a sow and her 3 little pigs." To his dad's eager expression, he went on, "The man said she had had a litter of 9, and he wanted to sell her and the remaining pigs." Howard listened attentively as he explained. "She was his pet he had had since she was a baby. 'So gentle I can put my hand in her mouth,' he said, and he did!"
Before I knew it, the pigs were installed in hastily readied quarters, and I was taken out to see them. They were not what I expected! This very tall sow with a pronounced turned-up snout was charging around the pen, followed by three very large piglets. The food they put in a huge trough was gobbled up with lightning speed, with the younger pigs climbing over the side and sliding around in it, to their disgruntled (pardon the pun) mother's squeals of disapproval.
I shivered at the thought of anyone's hand in the huge mouth, but reading about them later, I read that the stress gene is completely absent in that breed! (How did they do that?) My husband imparted a nugget of wisdom to me that "when their tails are curly, it means they're happy!" Apparently a lot of psychology or pig psychoanalysis has gone into raising pigs! And most of their tails were curly, despite their new surroundings.
By the next day my pig experts felt confident enough with the swine's good behavior to put Mama Pig out into a corral area to root and eat green stuff, since she was too big to get out through or under the fence. Her youngsters stayed securely inside their enclosure. The following day when I accompanied my husband to the farm to feed them, we found them all in the corral, the heavy-wire mesh barricade that confined the young pigs rooted and pushed open at one corner. When they saw Howard approaching with the feed bucket, they scooted under the fence and were out!
Howard surmised the sow, good mother that she is, had worked her rooter-snout into the slit of space between the gate and the gatepost, wedged it open, and freed her babies. When my harried husband tried to lure them back in with feed, the wily pigs ate the trail of food up to the opening, then shot away to freedom. Howard even tried grabbing them to deposit them over the fence, but it was like trying to catch a greased--well, pig!
After much hassle, mother and babies were back inside, and Howard's repair work was holding securely when we checked on them today. They eat way more than the former owner said they eat (and being that the stress gene is not absent in humans), I think the hog farmers are beginning to second-guess their decision. At least I hope that's why my spouse is looking on craigslist today, listing them for sale instead of being tempted and ending up with a pig in a poke!
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