Pigs: More Fun with Castrations

WARNING: PHOTO BELOW IS SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC. (Post is not.)

Mr. Farmer: Aww... you ruined your yoga pants!
Mrs. Farmer: Nah... it's just a little blood. It will wash out.

That's right, it's castration time again. Wilma's second litter was 18 days old today. Since I was off work and Young Master Farmer had a short day because of mid-terms at school, we finally got down to the business that various emergencies had caused us to put off. We castrated 3 of the 4 males, leaving the last for possible breeding stock for another location.

Averaging 12.5 pounds each, the piglets were, once again, very strong for their size. I held the first, a white, spotty, splotchy little guy, while Young Master Farmer assisted and Mr. Farmer performed the operation. But the process was a little slow, and I soon tired. My right arm, holding the critical back feet, started to ache, then go weak. I could feel the blood draining out of my face as I held on as best I could, and dizziness soon set in. In the end, I had to ask Young Master Farmer to take the back feet while Mr. Farmer finished up, cleaned the wound, and applied the liquid bandage. It was exhausting!

The second and third castrations went better. Young Master Farmer took my position in the chair and held the squirmy piglets by the legs, while I assisted with the head and repositioned him as needed. The operations went fairly smoothly, and Young Master Farmer managed to avoid getting bitten by the sows when snatching the piglets from the pen.

Once again, when all was finished, we were tired and dirty- except for Mr. Farmer, of course, who was as clean as any vet would be after performing surgery. When I went for my shower afterward, I started by pre-washing the blood spots on my pants. I then found that I had a matching blood spot on my leg (yuck!) and dirt on me in places I couldn't believe those muddy little pig feet could have reached! I believe Young Master Farmer still has a muddy smudge on his face that I can't explain either. But the job is done, and we can move on to the next project.

It's a Dirty Job, but Someone's Gotta Do it!

Pigs: The Coughing Pig

I was really excited about going to the Pennsylvania Farm Show. I have watched it on television a number of times and really enjoyed it. Mr. Farmer looked at it as part research for a possible entry next year and part family vacation. I didn't even mind that the distance meant that I would have to get out of bed at 3 am to leave at 4 am so that we wouldn't miss the early morning pig exhibits that Mr. Farmer wanted to see. I even begged someone at work to cover my shift that day so that I could go. One of the pigs had other ideas.

A certain black and white pig started coughing about a week prior to the Farm Show. With Wilma expecting, Mr. Farmer wasted no time in finding the culprit. One morning, all the pigs came running out to be fed as always- except one. The last one wandered out, glassy-eyed and visibly thinner than the rest. So he did what any pig-farmer would do: He injected the sick pig with strong antibiotics, and he added a prophylactic dose to the drinking water for the others.

It was too late, however. The sick pig needed a second dose injected, and Mr. Farmer couldn't bring himself to potentially infect the prize pigs at the Farm Show if he himself carried the illness. So, instead of getting up at 3 am, slogging through a cup of tea and fighting to stay awake on a 4 hour drive to Harrisburg, I slept in until past 8 am and... well, that's the story I sat down to write for you just now.

Mr. Farmer's syringe looks like something out of a cartoon. It is an old-fashioned, reusable glass monster with metal rings on it so that you can keep a good grip. He told everyone how he bent a needle doing the first injection, so I figured that maybe those rings were a good idea. The large size allowed him to overfill it a bit, which also turned out to be a good idea...

You see, the first dose was a big help, and while the coughing continued, the pig was feeling better. He was so much better, in fact, that Mr. Farmer knew he was going to need assistance holding him still for the injection. So Young Master Farmer and I put on warm clothes, gloves for better grip, and gear that could get muddy, and went along to assist. Mr. Farmer dumped some food on the ground, we identified the sick pig, and Young Master Farmer grabbed him by the leg. The other pigs were too busy eating to pay any mind, and the sick pig wasn't well enough to squeal or scream. After some shuffling for position, I was able to grab the other leg and hold on. Once I had a good grab I dug my back foot in to keep the kicking from pushing me backwards, and I told Mr. Farmer that we were ready.

The rest of the process was a blur- literally. My hat slipped down over my one eye, but with both hands on the pig's ankle and Mr. Farmer already wiping off the ham with rubbing alcohol, adjusting it just wasn't an option. I held on as best I could, dug in, and waited for the all-clear signal. Out of one eye, under the bottom edge of my hat, I could see the medicine come back out of the needle-stick, then a little blood, then the bent needle going for a second stick, then more liquid running down the hind end of the pig. After what felt like five minutes, Mr. Farmer stepped back and young Master Farmer and I could let go. The sick pig went back to eating as if nothing had happened, in spite of the trickle of blood and extra antibiotic running down its leg.

As with any interaction that involves holding pigs still, there were the usual repercussions. The aching back kicked in just after we came home from the evening out, and I took a few pills before I went to bed. My clothes stayed pretty clean, but my rubber clogs have seen better days. They served me well, though, and I am pleased to announce that all pigs have a clean bill of health once again.

This Kind of Thing is Bound to Happen

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, a very Merry Christmas.  Thank you for your support and kind comments through the year. All the best to you.

Peace and Joy,
Mrs. Farmer
Mr. Farmer
Young Master Farmer
Little Miss Farmer

Chickens: Pedro

As a rule, we do not name animals unless they live in the house with us. Pets get names, livestock does not. Our 19 chickens do not have names. Our 3 breeder pigs do, since they will be with us for quite a while, but they are an exception. We refer to most of the pigs by color (white, black & white, brown, rainbow), heritage (Mamas' "Tiffany Jr." , or Wilma's "Tiffany Jr." to differentiate between a couple piglets that look like their father), or purpose ("breeders" vs. "feeders"). Sure, we used to joke around, referring to our first three pigs as New Year's Eve, Super Bowl, and Fourth of July (followed shortly by Freezer and Dave's Pig, etc.), but naming animals is really only a recent change since our pig-partner's girlfriend came on the scene.

When we got our first set of day-old chicks, the children immediately wanted to name them. We tried to explain that some might not live, and that they were not pets, but they insisted. The two names that I remember from that first batch were Dirty Butt (there seems to be one of those in every batch of chickens) and Pedro.

The chicks were kept under cover to protect them from the elements and given a nice lamp to warm themselves under, but sadly, Pedro did not survive. The children were not to be deterred, however, so when we purchased our next set of chicks, they named another one Pedro.  Alas, poor Pedro did not survive. By the third set of starter chicks the children had learned their lesson, and they named none of the chicks that time.

It is common for day-old chicks not to survive. After all, they could have come with illness or injury already. They could be pecked to death by their cage-mates. They could be too stupid to stay under the light, or eat, or drink. So, when Mr. Farmer came in the house one chilly morning and announced that a young chick had died, the children, of course, asked, "Which one?" to which he replied, "Pedro, of course!"

All dead chickens are now called Pedro.

I'm Pretty Sure that One of These is Pedro...

Pigs: Assisting with Castrations

The Farmer is many things. He is Father to his children and Husband to his wife. He is Steward to his land. He is Master to his dog. To his animals, he is chef, housemaid, and protector. Sometimes, however, he is also the veterinarian. This time, I had the honor of assisting him with castrating the piglets.

Castrating piglets is hard work! Mr. Farmer had to keep his hands clean for the operation, so Young Master Farmer and I had to handle the piglets. He would snatch up a piglet, hand it over the fence to me where Mr. Farmer had set up a station in the vestibule. Then, while I pinned down the baby on my lap and held its mouth shut so it couldn't cry too loud, YMF would run interference between the very concerned adult pigs and the gate. You would be surprised how strong a 2 week old piglet is! It took all my strength to hang on to those wiggly suckers while Mr. Farmer made the incisions, removed the testicles, and sprayed a silver liquid bandage on their bottoms! Three times I handed the completed pigs back to Young Master Farmer, and they were returned to the family without incident (except that Surprise got a little bit of liquid bandage on her nose out of curiosity). I had to take a break to catch my breath between operations!

The two to the left were just castrated.
See the silver liquid bandage?
The brown one on the right is Surprise, a female.

Finding the last male piglet was a challenge. Wilma's litter had been castrated the previous week with our pig-partner in the position I was filling. That left just Mama's four male babies that needed the operation. We checked bottoms to find the one last piglet that remained intact, and Young Master Farmer guessed wrong several times! When we finally found him, he was the least wiggly and quietest of the bunch. I was so relieved when it was over.... and I was so dirty!!




I'm Covered in Mud, Poo, Pee, and Liquid Bandage.
See Why Mr. Farmer Couldn't Touch Piglets?



Pigs: My Son, MacGyver

Those slippery feeder pigs escaped again! (Click here to read what happened last time.) We recently moved the feeders to their bigger pen adjoining the breeder pigs at the Beta Site. We kept them separate from the huge breeders for their protection and to give them feed appropriate for their purpose. So imagine my surprise when I went to feed them the other day and found all the pigs in one enclosure!

They are MUCH Happier Loose!

The problem was discovered very quickly: the electric fence was malfunctioning. It took us several minutes to find the fault. The pigs seem to have pulled or knocked out one of the insulators, and the electric wire was sitting against a tree, grounding out the whole system. With no extra insulators on hand, we had to improvise. Mr. Farmer was not with us, and we were using my car, not the tool-and-part-filled van. We opened the trunk and dug around to see what we could use.

Young Master Farmer fashioned a new insulator out of 2 plastic forks and some foil from our "party box" (a case full of paper goods, salt & pepper, and all the other little things needed for a picnic on the fly). He used the foil to hold the two forks together, intertwined the tines, and put the wire between the tines. The fork kept the wire off the tree, and the zap returned to the electric fence.

I'm proud of Young Master Farmer MacGyver. He chased the escape-artist feeder pigs back into their part of the enclosure where they could eat in peace, and I tested the fence for my self for the first time (it doesn't hurt much). So long as the breeders leave those forks alone, the homemade insulator should hold until Mr. Farmer gets back from the store with a proper replacement. Who has a son who knows how to fix an electric fence? I do!