Coop_ A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting - Michael Perry [85]
I’m in over my head, but if I pay attention, they give me hints. On one particularly hot day I eased down to watch them and found both pigs at the spigot. They were lain draped across the ground, raising their snoots just far enough to nudge the steel nipple and release the water. Each in turn would take a mouthful, then let it dribble slowly to the ground. Pretty soon they had moistened a good patch of dirt. They rooted around at it, stirring it with their noses. Then they dribbled more water and stirred it again. The cycle continued for quite a while until they had dug a muddy bowl-shaped hole. Soon the hole was so deep they were able to get beneath the new electric strand and were again threatening to undermine the posts supporting the barrel. I made a note to reposition the spigot over the concrete bunk next year so they can’t excavate.
Not a bad idea, but not the main point. When I told Anneliese what they were doing, she clarified the obvious. “They need a wallow,” she said. Of course. Pigs can’t perspire and they need a wading pool to keep cool. I went back and hosed down one corner of the pen. I am careful not to spray the pigs themselves. I have read that the shock of cold water can give them a heart attack. Soon, however, they are scampering in and out of the hose stream, reveling in the cool and snouting around in the drenched dirt. They show no ill effects, and before long I throw caution to the wind and train the water directly on the pigs. Wilbur grunts and just stands there, but Cocklebur actively seeks the stream and often blocks it from Wilbur as she lets it play over her nose and into her mouth. When I finally close the hose their undocked tails spin a happy whirligig as they nuzzle and roll in the fresh mud.
During one of my fits of activity, I built a shelter to provide them protection from the sun and rain. I began with a fine vision of what the shelter would look like. I even planned to roof it with some used shingles I found down in the shed. Nothing says redneck like a blue tarp roof, and I swore I wouldn’t go that way. As usual, I overdreamed and underbudgeted, and wound up banging together a bunch of castoff two-by-fours, several chunks of warped particleboard, and—due to hit the road for a stretch with no time for shingling—finished it off with a nice blue tarp. Sigh. On the bright side, it will be easily spotted by the assessor and should depress our property values accordingly.
The pigs have so far disdained the shelter, and as a result their ears are badly sunburned. Not my fault, I think, but perhaps a better farmer would slather them in SPF 40.
A while back our neighbor Ed drove up the hill with his tractor and rear-mount tiller and churned up a patch beside the pigpen. I planted several rows of sweet corn, some zucchini, and broadcast a pailful of soybeans Amy and I shucked on the porch steps. The plan is to feed the pigs zucchini and sweet corn and then eventually turn them loose on the soybeans and everything remaining. In the process we’re hoping they’ll chew up the ground and give us a nice garden plot for next year. Piggy as rototiller.
Ed came up because when I tried to till the sod our little tiller hopped and bounced and barely scuffed the dirt. Ed’s machine did the job in a trice, and he wouldn’t take a thing in payment. I am grateful for the help, but even more grateful for the spirit in which it was offered. It sounded like he was hitting some rocks down there and I cringed to think what he might be doing to his equipment.
Taking a break from the desk one afternoon, I put Jane in the backpack and take Amy down to check the pig patch. Everything has come on nicely, but because I scatter-sowed the soybeans, I can’t weed them properly, and they are succumbing