So, the pigs are going back from whence they came. With these two, we really bit off more than we can chew. To quote from the email Fred sent out to the various people who were buying one and a half of the pigs (the last half being ours, of course):
The pigs I bought in Tennessee came from a factory farm hog raiser,
and they were considered “culls” because they have inguinal hernias,
which are small holes in their abdominal walls. Their intestines can
come out through the hole, making a bulge on the pig’s underbelly.
According to the man I bought them from, it’s a simple matter to “poke
the guts back up in the hole” regularly, and the pigs will eventually
get big enough that their intestines no longer protrude.
I did not find this to be the case.
After days of crawling through poop and wrestling squealing pigs, I’ve
had enough and am returning them to the man I got them from.
I’ll let you know when I find another (normal) pair.
Sorry for any inconveniences this may cause.
On Tuesday when Fred got home from work, we went out so that I could hold each pig while he “poked the guts back up in the hole”. These pigs are little but HOLY SHIT were they hard for me to hold. Apparently the best way to hold a pig is by their ears, and although I was reluctant, I did it. It didn’t, for the record, hurt them. Just made them angry and squeal very loudly.
(The volume of a tiny pig squealing is utterly amazing.)
So Fred did the poking, and after their guts were poked up into the hole, the guts? Immediately slipped back out. Okay. Well, apparently their guts were big enough to stay, right?
Yesterday when Fred got home from work, we went out. Only this time, instead of looking curiously at us when we walked into their shelter, the pigs remembered the horror from the day before (and again, nothing we did HURT them, it just scared them) and went shooting out of the shelter. Big Pig made it – we managed to catch Little Pig. I was just barely able to hold on to the pig while Fred did his thing. Big Pig, seeing that we were distracted by Little Pig, came over to investigate, and then bit my boot, hoping it was food.
Pigs = stomachs on legs.
Little Pig done (and yes, the guts slid right back out), we had to lure Big Pig with food. The dogs were exceedingly interested in watching us. I had a VERY hard time keeping hold of Big Pig, and after trying his best to push guts, Fred finally gave up and told me to let Big Pig go.
We came inside and discussed it, and Fred called the guy we’d gotten the pigs from. The guy told him “Oh, you don’t need to do it every day, just every ten days or so.”
“Here’s the problem,” I said to Fred. “I was – barely – able to hold onto the pigs today. In ten days, I don’t know that I’m going to be able to.”
We talked some more, and ultimately decided to give the pigs back to the guy this Sunday. The man who sold us our first two pigs last year will have some later this month, so chances are good we’ll be buying from him. The guy who sold us these two pigs will likely be able to find someone at the flea market to buy these two, so they won’t be going back to a factory situation.
And that’s what’s going on with the pigs!
It’s kinda too bad that they’re going back, because they’ve certainly got personality.
From the side yard, driving Sugarbutt crazy:
Tufted Titmouse, keeping an eye on you.
Finch sock, right outside the side door.
The other Finch sock, about twenty feet away.
From the chicken yard:
Chicken George has gone broody. Fred put her in a cage last night to break her from the broodiness.
Our wee Silkie has started laying the prettiest little pink eggs. In a few months, we very well may try hatching a few. (Silkies are purported to be very good mothers.)
Silkie in the yard.
Michelle and the wimminfolk.
Life on the farm is kinda laid-back.
The speckled rooster. I think he’s awfully pretty – I’ve started calling him Bob. Fred was going to process him back when he did all those chickens a few weeks ago, but I begged for his life and Fred relented. (Or I said “No, let’s keep him.” One or the other.)
Keeping an eye on the flock.
It’s a George.
Eyeballing the flock.
Things that ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF ME:
Every goddamn time we go somewhere and Fred needs to run inside or go do something at the other end of the vehicle while I wait in the vehicle, he leaves the goddamn door wide fucking open. WIDE OPEN. It was like TEN GODDAMN DEGREES that day, and we were getting straw or feed or something, so he backed up to the loading dock and got out to give his sales slip to the guy, and left the door wide open. WIDE MOTHERFUCKING OPEN. Occasionally he’ll give the door a half-hearted push so that it closes part of the way. I fucking ASK YOU – how DIFFICULT is it to shut the goddamn door? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY.
When I do the dishes, I do the dishes. That is, I put whatever will fit in the dishwasher into the dishwasher, I wash what doesn’t go in the dishwasher, then I dry and put said dishes away. THAT is what I consider “Doing the dishes.” Because if you leave dishes drying beside the sink overnight, you just might walk into the kitchen to find that a cat has helpfully peed upon the drying dishes. (YES, THIS IS MY LIFE. CAN WE GET MORE CATS, PLEASE?) Fred, on the other hand, puts what he can into the dishwasher, washes what won’t fit, and then piles them to the side of the sink and leaves them there forever. (IF YOU SAY “WELL AT LEAST HE DOES THE DISHES” I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND CUT YOU. Most nights “doing the dishes” for him entails putting his dirty dinner dish into the dishwasher.) Last night, after I gave him shit for not putting the dishes away, he said “Well, you should have said ‘Can you come put these dishes away?'” (1) WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO? DOES HE NOT SEE THAT THE DISHES NEED TO BE PUT AWAY? (2) If I had, I GUARANTEE I would have gotten the “Oh, you’re allllllllllways thinking up things for me to do!” PARDON ME if I think that picking up the bag of cat shit and taking it over to the garage WHEN YOU ARE HEADED THAT WAY ANYWAY is “thinking up things for you to do”, motherfucker!
(It might be one of Those Days. You know, a day that started off with stepping in a puddle of cold cat barf, followed by a couple of cats screaming at each other? Yeah, like that.)
I love how it looks in this picture like Rumba’s yelling at Samba. “You just stay over there! I need my space!”
More kitten pics over at Love & Hisses.
He’s a happy Joe.
Previously
2008: At one point I turned around to say something to Sugarbutt, who was sitting by the screen door leading to the back yard, smacking at the cat door, and I saw every single chicken sitting on the back steps, staring expectantly at me, hoping I’d send some food their way.
2007: God. That sounds just like a herd of elephants, I thought.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I DON’T KNOW YOU, I CAN’T CHAT WITH YOU, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE.
2003: Pictures found.
2002: That’s just the kind of sucky slacking emailer I am.
2001: You know, if I had ANY self-control at all, I’d wait to buy these books ’til they come out in paperback.
2000: No entry.
I would just like to say that killing and eating those little pigs was an option, but SOMEONE thought returning them was a better choice.
OMG, both of my kids do that Leaving the Car Door Open thing and I hate it. Jackasses.
Also, my husband “does his laundry” the way Fred “does the dishes.” I and DON’T care that “at least he does his own laundry,” because he doesn’t, it is HALF-ASSED. He puts the laundry in the washer, runs the washer, moves that load to the dryer, puts another load in the washer and that’s IT. So when I want to use the washer, I have to empty the dryer, fold/hang, blah, move the washer load, etc. Makes me INSANE.
MEN.
I got all excited thinking we FINALLY would know Fred’s car, but no, I see the Ram is just from his truck….right? Darn it!
My husband does that leave the car door open thing everytime we get gas. Not only is it usually freezing out but he leaves the key in so all I hear is that damn ding ding ding sound, it really makes me go bat-shit!
OH! Dishes! My husband belongs to the school of “every step of the project its own dish” so whenever he cooks there are dishes everywhere. I swear the man can fill a sink making a peanut butter and jelly sammich. Not only that, but he’ll leave a sloppy saucy dish sitting on the counter so it dries up all crusty instead of taking the extra time to rinse it out when the sauce is gooey and easy to manage. HATE! (He is, however, an excellent cook so I try to not get the seething kill going on when I come into the kitchen after a delicious meal to find Dish-ageddon).
Ummm…I might also leave the last load of laundry in the dryer when I do laundry so please don’t come over and kill me Paula. Of course I’m the laundry maven in our house so when I come back to find a dry load sitting there it’s sorta my own fault.
What is it with men and household chores? My husband thinks that “cleaning up after dinner” means piling all the dirty dishes in the sink and walking away. Never mind the food containers left out on the counter that should be in the fridge, all of the crumbs left over, and the fact that the dishwasher is EMPTY and ready to be filled! WTF???
I think it causes them physical pain to start a dishwasher, wipe a counter, or, GOD FORBID clean a toilet.
Anyone else get a kick out of the fact that the chicken is George but the rooster is Michelle? HAHA!
My husband does the same thing with the leaving-the-car-door open. I learned that if I’m driving, which I usually am, if I reverse just a little bit, then hit the brakes, the door will shut. And I promptly lock it and make him get his key out to get back in. Heh heh heh. Sometimes we have to MAKE THEM LEARN!!!
Robyn-I know this is totally unsolicited advice-but I just had to comment.
I worked on a pig farm for years after college, and the best way to hold a pig is by catching it by the back leg (as it runs past you!) and holding it by both back legs with the pig’s belly facing away from you. Something about this posture keeps them much calmer and reduces the deafening squealing. You guys were right to send those pigs back, I am not sure how successful pushing on the hernia is.
Men. Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em.
What’s worse, do you think? Stepping in cold cat barf, or warm cat barf? I’m trying to decide here, but I think the jury’s still out on that one.
Cat barf. The reason I wear flip flops in my house! 😛
In these parts, pigs with that particular affliction are called ‘ruptures’ and they are indeed culled from the group because packing plants dock the price per pound on the (cloven) hoof a BUNCH. They have to be carefully processed, what with the ECOLI and everything.
My husband does that leave the car door open dirty trick too. I LOVE MizJenn’s solution. My rude husband never opens the car door for me either which I can live with but he will forget to unlock my door and let me stand there cooling my heels. This pisses me off majorly. I have discovered that tapping on the glass with my rings makes HIM crazy so I do it all the time. He does the same rude shit to his best friend when he drives him somewhere and now the friend taps HIS ring on the car door glass too.
I would have returned the pigs too- a lot more trouble than it is worth! Your poor foot-Ouch! Hope it’s okay. Hate the step in puke thing-the only worse thing I’ve stepped in barefooted was liquid dog shit! EWWWWW! Not supposed to go bareoot anymore because of diabetes-not a bad thing in many cases.
I am not a chicken person-I am afraid of them-all birds really. I know I’m a wuss. My friend got bitten on the crotch by a goose at a local petting zoo. She was filming her nephew with the animals and got too close to it I guess. Anyway I don’t like chickens but your silkie is very pretty.
I read you during my lunch hour. When I’m eating. Just giving you my schedule so you’ll know next time to leave out the guts talk. Thanks!
And I’d be surprised if there weren’t 50 comments by the end of the day regarding the ridiculous way men think (or don’t think!).
I read you during my lunch hour. When I’m eating. Just giving you my schedule so you’ll know next time to leave out the guts talk. Thanks!
And I’d be surprised if there weren’t 50 comments by the end of the day regarding the ridiculous way men think (or don’t think!).
You won’t hear me saying “At least he did the dishes” because as far as I’m concerned the dishes ARE NOT DONE. I came down on Sunday morning and husband is prancing around expecting mad props because he cleaned up the kitchen. First, the kitchen was CLEAN Saturday night. CLEAN does not mean cramming dishes in the dishwasher willy-nilly so that they have no hopes of every being cleaned. CLEAN includes counters, the rangetop and wiping syrupy fingerprints off the frig (are you freaking 2 years old?). CLEAN means putting the ketchup AWAY and not swiping crumbs all through the butter, becasue that is NASTY. CLEAN means sweeping the floor and getting rid of enough crumbs to make another entire breakfast. CLEAN means properly caring for my cast-iron skillet and not leaving it to soak (rust) in a sink full of scummy, greasy water AND actually draining the sink and wiping it CLEAN of the greasy, scummy residue. I am not eternally grateful you made breakfast because you make a big enough mess that I expected Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner all rolled into one and I am not a big fan of breakfast anyway.
Yes, I am an ungrateful bitch, unless you show me something to actually be grateful about.
Hey, I feel better. Thanks, Robyn!
“It’s kinda too bad that they’re going back, because they’ve certainly got personality.” I got a Pulp Fiction vibe off this, but I’m not sure if that’s what you intended. Cracks me up none the less.
Husband bashing: He closes the car door no problem but takes off with the keys. Am I going to drive away and leave you? How about a little radio to listen to while you’re gone?
Husband praising: Better at dishes and all house cleaning than I am.
With regard to the roosters, does each one have his own wimmin or is it a share and share alike thing?
Help! I want to escape with my honey for a one night get away, somewhere not too far to drive. Any suggestions? (hotels or just locations appreciated.)
My husband leaves all the cabinet doors open and it drives me CRAZY!! Not to mention once our son learns to crawl or walk it could make for an interesting situation.
You make me laugh. Thank you for that!
worse than stepping in a pile of cold cat barf and having it squish between your bare toes?
stepping in a pile of WARM cat barf and having it squish between your bare toes.
Just sayin’.
My husband will not put on his seatbelt. So every 5 min we hear “ding, ding, ding, ding, ding”
Drives me crazy. He would rather risk his life and deal with the noise than put his belt on!~!
Those pigs are the PERFECT spit roasting size. Just sayin.
I gotta say, I’ve never in my life heard about trying to “poke them back in.” It’s a simple surgery to fix them, but eh….why bother…
Much easier to just buy them without. FWIW though, there were a few 4-H hogs last year with hernias. They made it up to weight just fine apparently.
Kristyn, my husband leaves the cabinet doors open, too, and it drives me nuts. I’m not sure why it drives me so nuts, but I think it’s along the lines of “how hard is it to close the door?” coupled with the fact that open doors make the kitchen look a lot more cluttered because you can see all of the crap inside the cabinets.
But I don’t ever complain about it because it’s so damn petty. It’s amusing how much of a pet peeve it is for me, though.