the end of an era--tammy the pig

it’s truly—the end of an era.  today I whispered a soft prayer to myself, kneeling in a busted, rusted, jalopy of a trailer—shades of rust and blue.  entire sections of metal peeling apart—I kneeled with a bucket of slop perched in between my legs, tilting it forward with quiet hands.  in front of me, just over a foot away, was tammy—our herd’s matriarch.   a living legend.  the mother of my own first pig, and the grandmother to so many in our herd.  our mascot.  and as a farm, and as a business, the cost of carrying a mascot, no matter how loveable or timeless, had become a giant money pit.

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pretty pig, hurt foot

for those of you who have been missing the pigs—such as myself—as my attention has shifted from four-leggeds to no-leggeds, you will find this brief snippet from pch a disappointing news bit to come back to.  mama berkeley, one of our sweetest, prettiest, and happiest proven sows, is ten days into a leg injury and is showing minimal signs of improvement. 

the regular vital signs—is the pig eating and drinking?—all check out normal.  she’s above board on both. 

she is putting no weight on either of her front feet, although she only reacted when I squeezed her left hoof.  she devoured some slop, walking considerable distances exactly as she is pictured above—knees to the earth, no feet involved (has anyone seen this before in their pigs?). 

so far we have been giving her the tommy treatment, as some of you may recall, which refers to when we nursed a three hundred pound boar back to good standing health by administering some extra love and affection.

berkeley’s attitude is completely normal.  her demeanor, still sweet.  if it weren’t for her hobbling around footless, you could say she was doing great.  at this point, it’s anybody’s guess how this scene will develop, but my hunch is towards a gradual recovery.  hope for the best.

pig circus

Tommy's last stand

 read this post below before watching video.  thanks, and enjoy.

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gorgonzola butter

the sun takes its time across the massively blue idaho sky, scorching forest as it lingers. freshly dead trees stand as shriveled instant fossils, their moisture evaporating at once. the thin air falls heavy on your nose as breaths of evergreens and wild flowers roll down the slopes and settle in the valley below.  if the wet, muggy air of the georgia piedmont hangs oppressively on my back, then the cool, dry mountain air in idaho feels like a bellow inflating my chest in comparison.  without rain the rocks turn to dirt beneath our feet and mushroom clouds of dust cake our ankles with each step. 

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