Three Little Pigs

The day before P-Day, it was torrential. Between the rain and the slippy muddy ground, finishing off the fencing was (I imagined from the warmth and comfort of my desk) not particularly enjoyable. But soon, the gate was hung, the stock fencing was stapled into place, and I then spent the afternoon running polywire around the perimeter of the pen. After all my worries about the technicalities of setting up an electric fence, and getting more confused following each YouTube video, it turns out its actually really straight forward. Poke sticks in ground to hold up the polywire, cut polywire to length and tie to each end post, link the strands with a tail end, red nipper clip goes onto the wire, green nipper clip goes onto the earth rod, solar unit (with built in battery) goes on stand, switch on, stand back and admire the lights flashing in the handheld fence testing gadget. Easy peasy, right?!

P-Day dawned, cold and wet. I hadn’t slept well the night before (excitement and worry, plus being repeatedly kicked in the kidneys by a 4 year old) and was up way earlier than I needed to be, waiting by the stable to be picked up by the guy who was going to pig share with us. We were soon bouncing along in the pickup, with a dog crate, straw, rope and a tarpaulin in the back. As an avid read of murder books of varying quality, it felt as though all we had forgotten was the shovel, and a decent alibi. I’d cleared the dog crate out the night before. It was still full of all of Welly’s things, and smelt so strongly and sweetly of him I needed an extra glass of wine to help me through the task. His paws, right from when he was a puppy, had always smelled of mud and basmati rice.

At the farm, I soon felt totally out of place listening to the chat about cows, abattoirs and who knew who in the area. Luckily there was a litter of newborn Saddlebacks in the barn, so once again my resolution to “be sensible and chat knowingly and pragmatically about raising fattening pigs” soon descended into squeaking about how utterly adorably cute the piglets were. Once the crate had been set up (finally I was useful!) three piglets were brought out one by one, dangling upside down, and popped into the straw filled crate. Then the crate and tarpaulin was secured, money handed over in return for the pig transport forms, and that was that: I was officially a pig owner!

Rather unsurprisingly, the pickup didn’t make it up even the first bit of the muddy track to the field and slid to a sideways stop next to the ton-bag of soil that had also got delayed in its journey to the field due to the mud. Whilst I went to make tea for the guys and wake the rest of the household, the crate full of piglets was loaded onto a wheelbarrow and transported – rather precariously at times – the 200m or so to the field. Looking out of the kitchen door and seeing livestock – actual, government registered livestock! – making its way across our land was the most incredible surreal feeling.

The piglets were soon safely in their comfy straw-filled house – an old truck canopy, complete with a window and lift-up sides to make a veranda for lazing under on sunny days - and came snuffling out once food was provided. Once they’d guzzled everything, they had a little explore, and carried out their first important job: testing my electric fencing skills. Pig one went straight through, squealed and (thankfully!!) came right back through. A minute later pig two did the same. Turns out my electric fencing skills are rather…erm…shocking…

With the piglets shut back in their house, we re-ran the fencing focusing on getting the tension right this time. As we’d just seen, polywire that can wiggle around like a piece of spaghetti isn’t going to hold piglets in. On the plus side, there was definitely charge in the fence! We added some blue plastic mesh fence so that their boundary would be easier for them to see. We then set up a rota to watch the piglets; I was only half joking when I suggested we dig the tent out of the garage.

In the end we had no more escapees, and they took themselves off to bed after their supper. We went up about 10pm, and saw them through their window, tucked up and sleeping, the light on the electric fence unit blinking away reassuringly.

Early the next morning, again after not much sleep (excitement and worry, plus being repeatedly kicked in the kidneys by a 4 year old) I did the pyjama-clad slip and slide walk up to the field. My heart rate rose as I saw the tracks in the mud. Suspiciously trotter-like…at least they were heading towards the field, right?! I picked up the slip and slide pace. Peering in through the pig house window I saw the black lumpy outlines of piglets. Phew. I crept away, not wanting to wake them. Assuming, of course, that they hadn’t made carboard cut-outs of themselves and done a runner…

Later, after a leisurely Sunday breakfast of pencils (yummo) the piglets started to explore their new area a little more. They stick closely together, a black three-headed plough, eyes hidden by huge floppy ears, snuffling and grunting and turning the earth as they go. They leave a tide-line in the mud that expands slowly as they get braver and venture further from their house.

Standing there watching them, our pigs in our field, we celebrated a successful first 24 hours of being pig-keepers.

Now we're Smallholdering!