When Pigs Fly

Runt and Grunt, our Tamworth pigs have done a good job of rooting up and fertilizing our field over the last couple of months. They both put on a lot of weight and thus were ready to go to the butchers. The plan was to load them into the back of my pickup the night before their appointment (Easter Sunday) and drive them up the next morning. I built a ramp out of two 1/2 inch thick sheets of plywood with furring strips spaced every foot or so for traction. Danielle and I tried to coax them in with the slop bucket and after many failed attempts managed to get Grunt -- the bigger of the two -- into the back of the truck where he happily went about eating his dinner. We tried unsuccessfully to get Runt to join him then realizing that one was better than none decided to just take up Grunt and let Runt feed out for another couple of weeks. After we closed up the back of the truck and turned it on Grunt started to take exception to his location. He broke the latch that holds the cap window down and then proceeded to flop up onto the tailgate, teeter there for a moment and ungracefully flip out the back. He was quite the site in my rear view mirror. Luckily he was unhurt and was more than happy to return to his paddock.

My wife wakes me up the next morning to inform me that all before 6:30 AM she has called a livestock hauler that the butchers recommended and that he would be coming that morning for the pigs. The hauler shows up to our place at 9:15 AM. It takes the three of us at least a half hour to wrestle the pigs into his truck -- I am stiff and sore as I type this. And the biggest kicker is after calling the hauler at the last minute and him having to help us fight to get our free range pigs into the truck, all he wants to charge us is $15. I have to force him to accept $25 for his troubles and feel that I got off cheap.

So all in all the pigs make it up to the butchers and we should be able to pick up our fresh pork on Wednesday, and now I have a story to go with the expression When Pigs Fly.