Once again, I'm having camera trouble, which is a shame, because what I would really like to do is put up side by side pictures of our pig: on the left, smaller than a chicken and cute enough to make the thought of eating him ridiculous. On the right: as big as a riding lawn mower, hairy and muddy and even a little scary. The thought of eating him does not spring to mind quite so quickly as does a primal fear of being eaten by him.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Nonetheless, today I climbed into the pigpen. The door was stuck closed from a mound of compacted straw and pigshit piled up behind it, and I had to get it open and let the pig out. Why? Why would I loose the ravening beast? Out of pity. He is now too big to fit into either of the pig houses, and he can't get out of the weather. Even though he is slated to die in less than two weeks, I can't let him lie out in the cold and rain. I don't want him to suffer, and I don't want him to get sick.
So I armed myself with a rake and hopped over the fence. He assumed I was going to feed him, of course, and ran right up to me and started screaming and butting me with his shockingly strong snout. Losing my balance, terrified of falling into the "mud," I hit him with the rake. It didn't hurt him a bit, of course. I don't think anything I could do would hurt him a bit.
So here I am, scraping ineffectually along the bottom of the gate, removing the compost by the quarter-inch, and walloping the pig every ten seconds or so with the back end of the rake whenever he nudges me in the back of the knees with his horrible snuffley nose. He doesn't stop screaming, either.
Did I mention that it's snowing like a mad bastard?
Well, it took me about a half hour, but I got the door open, and I didn't get knocked down in the pigpen, either. I'm really looking forward to some fresh new bacon, though. I really am.