When Lovely Neighbors Come to Call

There are days when I love having a Farm. The sun is shining. The tomatoes are juicy (and plentiful). There is joy in any and everything. Today is not one of those days. Either was yesterday. Did I tell you the pigs got out? Oh, yes. They did. I was taking a little mid-afternoon stroll in the backyard (feeling a little under the weather, actually) and there they are, digging deep ruts in the Turkey yard. Well. Let me tell you, the Turkey’s must still be upset over it, because they themselves showed up at my backdoor this afternoon to lodge an Of-ficial complaint.

So, I had to usher them back into their yard. In the drenching rain. I think that did it. I think that is when I began to wish for the snow so I could have a bit of a break already.

But first, back to that first point. The pigs had gotten out. And, thankfully, they had escaped one fenced in yard only to find themselves in another (which would only happen on that one of four sides). So, I guess I have that to be grateful for. They got out and it turns out that a pig that has gotten itself out is quite determined to stay that way. Hannah came up with the idea to lure them into the turkey’s shelter and close them in. That way it was a much smaller circumference to be chasing them around. So, after initially declaring the idea as hogwash, thirty exhausting minutes later, I found myself quite alone (Hannah having gone to the house, perturbed that her idea had been thus discarded) and grabbing a bag of softening apples and throwing them into the turkey’s abode. Ten minutes later, the pigs were in, and younger and spryer legs then mine were given the task of scooping up the bacon.

Jacob handed off the squirming squealing pigs to me, one at a time. And one at a time they were placed in the barn, in one of the stalls that currently contain six teenage chickens. Well, they lost their minds, let me tell you. There was squawking. There was squealing. And in the end there were eight very unhappy animals.

I went into the house and dropped myself on the couch and stayed there, nursing that fever that had threatened to make an appearance (and finally did) all day.

Now. There’s almost nothing I hate more than one of my animals being sad. And, since I had, eight in such a predicament, I checked to ensure the fever was gone, and seeing as it was, I arose with the sun and did something about it.

First, the chickens. The reason they were in the barn in the first place was because their feathers had yet to be clipped. That was quickly done and one by one the chickens placed in the main chicken yard. After an initial misunderstanding as to my intent, the chickens found themselves quite content with how their situation had improved. You see our chicken yard is rather large, with sand for dust baths, mulch for scratching (thanks to the Farmer who thought to put some in there for them–he noticed one day when a stray chicken went right to our flower beds how much they enjoyed it. The next day, he was spreading out buckets and buckets of mulch into their yard, so ALL the chickens could have such fun. And each day they ALL do), an plenty of worms and bugs to go around. In short, it’s a chicken’s paradise.

But those pigs. They were not nearly so happy. You see, they had been outside, digging and rooting away. And please, please trust me they will be again, come spring. But in just a few short weeks, they were to make the move to the barn, anyhow. You see we have cold winters here with lots of snow. .So, the barn is better for them. Just not yet. Not when there’s soft mud to root in.

I know. I know. Why not just put them back? Simple. Pigs are smart and the grass is always greener. Even if I did manage to get them back in their yard, now that they’d found out how, they’d just wiggle their way back out again. No. In the Spring, when they’re big enough for us to use the electric fencing that holds any and all pigs in, they’ll get their chance to play in the mud again.

But for now, it’s the barn.

So, as a way to make it up to them, I opened up two full stalls and filled both with fresh wood chips, deep and thick. I filled their trough with cool crisp water and their food bin to the brim with all sorts of tasty scraps. Busily slurping away on milk drenched whole wheat flour with some rhubarb jam stirred in, they conceded that the barn was not nearly so bad as they’d thought.

And then the rain started. That drench you to your bones never letting up kind of rain–that rain that brings a flock of turkeys to your back door. Yes. That kind of rain. And so now, those warm and dry pigs are thinking they just might have gotten the best end of the deal after all.