(This is cross-posted from my post on Backyardherds.com - thought you folks would enjoy it, too.)
I don't mind the rain, really! We needed it so badly after all that heat last week. Turned the pig pen into one massive mud waller, as expected. No matter, it's the nature of raising my piggies. Come feeding time, I know it's going to be a mess, carrying 30# buckets of feed to four feed troughs among 11 hungry porkers.
I'm fueled up with scrambled eggs, fried spam, and a still warm strawberry muffin. One more cup of coffee to brace myself for the journey into the mud pits. Lacking a pair of hip waders (If I had any common sense, I'd have four of these on hand!), I slip on some old leggings and a torn t-shirt, then step into my high-dollar knee-high Muck boots for the morning chores. I scoop three buckets full of feed, load them into my little garden wagon, and rattle over the gravel bumps toward the pigs' territory. They hear me coming, and the pen bursts into activity with grunts and squeals in anticipation. I smile. My chubby oinkers - a little over 200 lbs each, and always happy to see me and see what treats I'm bringing. This morning, I don't see any point in tossing in armfuls of weeds to distract them, as it'll just get trampled into the mud before they've eaten a handful. So I brace myself and open the gate, to be greeted by 11 muddy, happy and excited pigs. I see a mass of black-and-white backs, two red ones, and one who's supposed to be white but always seems to stay the color of, well, MUD.
The mud isn't awful on the high ground, only an inch or so deep, so I can make my way without too much trouble. Several of the bunch break away to stand guard over their favorite feed trough, and I bump and kick two out of the way of my chosen path. They oblige, knowing I won't move with that bucket until they do. I'm fully aware they could take me down without much trouble so I'm always on guard, but they also know I'm the ALPHA and not to mess with me or it's gonna hurt. I talk to them, call their names, and lean on their backs for a handhold to keep from slipping or getting accidentally knocked over. I go quickly to the least occupied feed trough and dump half a bucket of feed on top of the residue from last night. So far, so good. Now they're distracted. I move to the second trough, set my bucket down between my legs, and dump the trough upside down to clear it out. Four eager piggies think they're helping. I dump the rest of the feed in, and wiggle my way out of the press.
Now winding my way back to the gate to grab bucket #2, I'm followed by a small herd who didn't find a place at the first two troughs. I know where the soft spots and pits are, so I step carefully around these along the narrow strips of high ground. Feed trough #3 gets filled, and I move around the corner of the pigs' shed towards the last trough, bucket swinging in my left hand.
And that's where it all came to a halt. I misjudged where to step, my left foot went sliding down into the pit, bucket and feed flying through the air as I tipped and tried to prevent the inevitable. I landed on my butt directly in the middle of one of their deepest mud pits. SPLAT! I know a few strong cuss words and let 'em fly. Three or four porkers came running to my rescue, their pink eager snouts sniffing at my interesting and new position in their mud bath. I'm okay, except for a bruised ego. And then the laughing starts as I realize I'm finally one with the herd. Nothing to do but put both hands down into the mire to roll over and push myself upright. I retrieve the bucket, survey the damage, laugh a little more, pat some curious heads, and head off to refill it dripping mud and pig poo all the way.
Once finished with the pigs' chores, I curse again for not finishing that outdoor shower idea I had last year. Oh well, there's always the garden hose I use to fill their water troughs. (No need to water them this morning, after 3-inches of rain!) Standing on a wood pallet, I hose myself down head to toe including some unnamed parts that sat in the muck. Damn that's cold water, but exhilarating after the morning's entertainment! Good time to clean up a few of the buckets, rinse out that muddy towel by the spigot, and hose out the empty goat shed. Might as well!
Now that I've had a proper HOT and soapy shower, donned clean dry clothes, and filled a fresh cup of coffee.... I wanted to share my story. It'll make a great memory for me in my old age.
Moral of the story: There's no use getting mad about things getting messy when you're dealing with animals. It's inevitable. It's much more enjoyable to see the humor in any situation and make the best of it!
I don't mind the rain, really! We needed it so badly after all that heat last week. Turned the pig pen into one massive mud waller, as expected. No matter, it's the nature of raising my piggies. Come feeding time, I know it's going to be a mess, carrying 30# buckets of feed to four feed troughs among 11 hungry porkers.
I'm fueled up with scrambled eggs, fried spam, and a still warm strawberry muffin. One more cup of coffee to brace myself for the journey into the mud pits. Lacking a pair of hip waders (If I had any common sense, I'd have four of these on hand!), I slip on some old leggings and a torn t-shirt, then step into my high-dollar knee-high Muck boots for the morning chores. I scoop three buckets full of feed, load them into my little garden wagon, and rattle over the gravel bumps toward the pigs' territory. They hear me coming, and the pen bursts into activity with grunts and squeals in anticipation. I smile. My chubby oinkers - a little over 200 lbs each, and always happy to see me and see what treats I'm bringing. This morning, I don't see any point in tossing in armfuls of weeds to distract them, as it'll just get trampled into the mud before they've eaten a handful. So I brace myself and open the gate, to be greeted by 11 muddy, happy and excited pigs. I see a mass of black-and-white backs, two red ones, and one who's supposed to be white but always seems to stay the color of, well, MUD.
The mud isn't awful on the high ground, only an inch or so deep, so I can make my way without too much trouble. Several of the bunch break away to stand guard over their favorite feed trough, and I bump and kick two out of the way of my chosen path. They oblige, knowing I won't move with that bucket until they do. I'm fully aware they could take me down without much trouble so I'm always on guard, but they also know I'm the ALPHA and not to mess with me or it's gonna hurt. I talk to them, call their names, and lean on their backs for a handhold to keep from slipping or getting accidentally knocked over. I go quickly to the least occupied feed trough and dump half a bucket of feed on top of the residue from last night. So far, so good. Now they're distracted. I move to the second trough, set my bucket down between my legs, and dump the trough upside down to clear it out. Four eager piggies think they're helping. I dump the rest of the feed in, and wiggle my way out of the press.
Now winding my way back to the gate to grab bucket #2, I'm followed by a small herd who didn't find a place at the first two troughs. I know where the soft spots and pits are, so I step carefully around these along the narrow strips of high ground. Feed trough #3 gets filled, and I move around the corner of the pigs' shed towards the last trough, bucket swinging in my left hand.
And that's where it all came to a halt. I misjudged where to step, my left foot went sliding down into the pit, bucket and feed flying through the air as I tipped and tried to prevent the inevitable. I landed on my butt directly in the middle of one of their deepest mud pits. SPLAT! I know a few strong cuss words and let 'em fly. Three or four porkers came running to my rescue, their pink eager snouts sniffing at my interesting and new position in their mud bath. I'm okay, except for a bruised ego. And then the laughing starts as I realize I'm finally one with the herd. Nothing to do but put both hands down into the mire to roll over and push myself upright. I retrieve the bucket, survey the damage, laugh a little more, pat some curious heads, and head off to refill it dripping mud and pig poo all the way.
Once finished with the pigs' chores, I curse again for not finishing that outdoor shower idea I had last year. Oh well, there's always the garden hose I use to fill their water troughs. (No need to water them this morning, after 3-inches of rain!) Standing on a wood pallet, I hose myself down head to toe including some unnamed parts that sat in the muck. Damn that's cold water, but exhilarating after the morning's entertainment! Good time to clean up a few of the buckets, rinse out that muddy towel by the spigot, and hose out the empty goat shed. Might as well!
Now that I've had a proper HOT and soapy shower, donned clean dry clothes, and filled a fresh cup of coffee.... I wanted to share my story. It'll make a great memory for me in my old age.
Moral of the story: There's no use getting mad about things getting messy when you're dealing with animals. It's inevitable. It's much more enjoyable to see the humor in any situation and make the best of it!
My fault. I shouldn't have made them so friendly.
