Life on the farm has been, and is, moving at breakneck speed lately. The season brings so much to do, and even though the days are longer, the sun always seems to set too soon.
So I should be outside getting work done, but I’m taking a quick respite to tell a story that simply begs to be told.
We have a pig.
We started with three—all brothers—and two were castrated for the purpose of faster growth, and we have butchered both of them. The third is an intact boar, and up until Sunday, he had never been with a lady.
We have some friends who have a lady pig, but no mature boar to help her make baby pigs.
I have a trailer.
It’s a one-horse trailer, and I bought it recently for a great price on Craigslist. It may turn out to be my proudest purchase of the year. It’s so handy, and vintage too.
Pigs don’t like getting in trailers; they’re just inherently nervous about it. So Dad (who was in town for the weekend) and I set up a makeshift chute to funnel the pig toward the trailer entrance. Then we dumped copious amounts of tasty pig feed inside the trailer. Then we waited.
Lucky (that’s his name… you can guess why) cautiously approached the trailer, but soon had walked right up inside.
Now was our chance.
I swung the door shut. Oh no! The rubber floor mats had been hanging out the back, and the door wouldn’t shut on them! I quickly opened the door, folded up the mats, and closed it again. The pig began realizing he’d been shut inside, and he grew irritated.
I was fastening the door latch, when the pig put his front hooves up on the door, shaking the trailer. “Whoa!” I cried, “Easy, pig, it’s okay!”
He did not agree. Suddenly, while I was still standing behind the trailer, the pig leapt OVER the trailer door. I hollered, ducking out of the way, as my 300+ pound boar literally flew past my head—six feet in the air.
I didn’t see, but Dad says he even stuck the landing.
While I recovered my mental faculties and changed my undergarments (not really… but it’s surprising I didn’t need to), we decided we needed to put a board across the top of the trailer.
That did the trick.
After much, much coaxing, and the irresistible lure of spoiled milk in a bowl, the pig returned to the trailer, and we shut him inside.
We, regrettably, did not get the flying pig on video. But here’s the video of us finally getting him inside.
He was still not at all happy, but he could not get out.
That doesn’t mean he didn’t try, though.
He spent a good portion of the 30-minute drive with his hooves up on the sidewall of the trailer, trying his very best to push his face through the gaps on the side, providing entertainment for those driving behind us, and raising my heart rate to an unpleasant level.
We finally got him to his girlfriend’s house, and when we opened the door, he was so exhausted from standing on his back legs (IDIOT), he wouldn’t even come out of the trailer. The smell of his new lady friend didn’t even work. Only the scent of canteloupe rinds did the trick.
He immediately walked through his new pen, and plopped down in the muddy pond/wallow. He ignored the sow; all he could think about was having a nice, relaxing bath after what was probably the most stressful day of his life. I felt the same way.