Babies, Babies Everywhere

28 February 2009 Saturday morning as Aaron and I went about our daily tasks Aaron advised me that Phyllis had pulled a few bits of grass into the shed. She was definitely nesting. Today would be the day. A couple of hours later I went into check on her. Holy crap!

The girl had gone into nesting overdrive. She had pushed all the chip from the edges of the shed into the middle, I swear she’d actually turned over and rearranged most of the chip in the shed. Then she’d added mounds of kikuyu, twigs and branches of manuka she’d ripped off the trees in her paddock. It was impressive to say the least. This was the ultimate in pig nests. Most of the stuff was mounded on one side, with a hollow in the middle for her and the babies. To me it looked like a bit like a death trap for piglets, with no easy escape route. However, through recent experience we’ve learnt that you do not interfere with a sow’s nest. I left her to it. At dinner time I checked in on Phyllis. She was in labour. I talked to her for a while and gently massaged her side and back and then left her to it. About 5ish I headed back down to the shed with a bucket and rubber gloves. I wasn’t going to have any more dead babies if it could be helped. At 6 o’clock the first piglet arrived. I quickly cleared the afterbirth off it and then watched as the piglet tried to find its mum’s teats. It wasn’t the smartest piglet and headed the wrong way, nudging up and down her spine. I picked it up and put it in the right spot. Twice more it shakily staggered its way around her back before it finally cottoned on to where it should be. I heard a car pull in the driveway. Our CouchSurfers had arrived. It was bad timing really. Magret and Terry were only here for the night and I suspected they wouldn’t see much of me. Aaron and the dogs greeted them as they came in the driveway and invited them into the shed. I didn’t think Phyllis would appreciate having an audience but Aaron didn’t have a problem with it. And so for the next 30-40 minutes Magret and Terry watched and witnessed the birth of 3 more piglets. They seemed quite thrilled with the whole experience and when Phyllis seemed to reach a break in proceedings we made our way up the hill. An hour or so later Phyllis started having contractions again and by 8 O’clock had had 4 more piglets. Two of them had been born encased in the placenta, unable to move or breathe. It was a relief to know I had been there to help them. One of them struggled to breathe for several minutes as it tried to clear the mucous from its throat. I tried using some techniques I’d seen when watching Jimmy’s Farm and eventually it came right. And so my evening was spent continually running between house and shed as I looked after piglets, cleared up afterbirth, made dinner and tried to entertain. Thank god Aaron’s the better host. Despite my continual absence and preoccupation our guests seemed to have a good time. Sunday morning Magret and Terry left and Aaron and I got stuck into working. I continually checked up on Phyllis and the babies during the day and discovered that Phyllis' hormones had kicked in and she seemed unhappy with my presence. I had always assumed Joy would be the least favourable of human presence as Phyllis and I seemed to have a good bond. However my relationship with Phyllis has become more and more strained as the week has progressed. It’s Time For Weaning Joy’s piglets are 7 weeks old and are drinking so much milk that Joy cannot put on weight. It was time to separate mum and babies. Sunday afternoon we opened the gate next to the dogs’ run and called the pigs. They smelt the buckets of food we were carrying and raced after us as we walked around the back of the house to the top orchard. The piglets ran in and we shut the gate and turned Joy around. She quickly followed the bucket. Aaron fed the piglets and I took Joy back to her orchard and fed her. Talk about easy! I left and shut the gate and went back and checked on the piglets. They were a little unsure of their new surroundings and kept trying to get out underneath the fence. I suspected we would need to reinforce it before they found an escape route. Damn, more work! I let myself out as Aaron tried to encourage the piglets into the wallow. I thought I could hear Joy grunting and wanted to check on her. As I came around the corner of the house I saw her attacking the gate and then she lifted the gate clean off the hinges and started running towards me. “Aaron! Open the gate!” Joy raced up to her piglets and they shot out the gate to greet her. I banged 2 buckets together and they followed me back to their old home. I shut the gate. Joy was very wound up. She stalked around the paddock in a very agitated state, her piglets running excitedly after her. She came over to the gate again and started attacking it. I tried to hold it in place and talk soothingly to her but she was in no mood to listen and I was no match for her incredible strength. She broke through the gate again and mum and piglets headed towards the back of the house. Joy took a swipe at one of the chickens and they flew off squawking. We couldn’t convince any of the pigs to turn back so I ran down the hill to get some camemberts. When I came back up Aaron had virtually given up in frustration. Joy had found the dogs bones and was crunching them rather loudly and the piglets had split up and were racing here, there and everywhere. However, pieces of camembert waved enticingly in front of piggy noses did the trick and once again they followed me back into their paddock. Aaron refixed the gate and I walked Joy and the piglets down to the wallow. Joy was still very wound up and the piglets were reacting excitedly to her agitation. They all jumped in the wallow and peace was restored. Or so I thought. 10 minutes later Joy emerged from the wallow, paced around the paddock and then broke through the gate once more. She headed straight for the dog bones. Aaron tried physically pushing her backwards but she wouldn’t budge. As the piglets ran back and forth in front of the verandah I grabbed a large piece of roofing iron and stood blocking the path to the front of the house. Aaron tried pushing and talking to Joy and she slowly made her way back to the gate. The piglets ran in the gate but Joy refused and turned around. The piglets ran out again. Aaron started to get agitated. Joy got even more agitated and very quickly it became a battle of wills. After a couple of minutes of trying to coax Joy through the gate Aaron lost his temper and started yelling at Joy and shoving her. Joy reacted by getting more and more agitated. The situation was fast spiralling out of control. I kept telling Aaron to calm down but this only seemed to incense him. The madder he got, the madder she got. Eventually I found myself screaming at Aaron to calm down and to use the bag of empty mussel shells on the verandah as an enticement. He completely ignored me of course, his only interest at that point to show Joy who was boss. The situation was ludicrous. It was obvious Joy’s maternal instinct had gone into overdrive and she was experiencing a massive adrenaline surge. Aaron’s anger was only serving to fuel that surge. But I guess it is the way of things, tell an angry person to calm down and it only serves to do the opposite. “Use the mussels! Use the mussels!” I screamed. Aaron grabbed the bag of mussels and hurled it in my direction and then stormed off, leaving the pigs to walk off. I grabbed the mussels and a piece of camembert on one of the bbq tables and got the pigs to walk back to the paddock with me. Aaron fixed the gate and held it shut. I ran down to the shed and filled a bucket full of pig nuts and cheese and then ran back up the hill. I fed Joy and the piglets and kept feeding them while Aaron raced down the drive and fetched an electric wire and unit. As the pigs ate Aaron set up the unit inside their paddock. Joy and the piglets ate until their tummies literally bulged and then Joy stormed back up to the gate again. Her nose connected with the tape and she screamed and bolted back behind the dog kennel where she collapsed on the ground. One after another the piglets came up and sniffed the tape, squealed in shock and ran back and collapsed next to mum. Within 10 minutes they were all in a deep sleep and calm descended. They slept for hours and eventually all awoke calm and happy. We were both shocked. Every pig farmer we’ve spoken to has assured us that sows get heartily sick of their piglets and are only too happy to give them up once they start eating solids. Joy it seems has unnaturally strong maternal instincts. We decided at that point that providing she doesn’t lose any more weight she can make up her own mind about when to wean. The Harsh Realities of Animal Rearing Sunday evening Aaron and I took the dogs for their last walk of the day. Aaron decided to give Arthur a bit of attention while I gave Phyllis a last check on. Phyllis was rearranging her nest and the piglets were milling around watching. They looked fine but then they moved and I discovered the smallest piglet had an horrific injury. I couldn’t believe that it was a) standing and b) not squealing in pain. I walked outside and called Aaron. And so we stood and stared in shock at the wound. Part of its side, groin and thigh had been degloved, exposing all of the muscle. The skin hung in a flap from its body. The first horrifying thought for both of us was that we would have to end the life of this poor little piglet. Phyllis wandered outside to check if we’d put anything in the trough for her. I grabbed the piglet and we raced up the drive. Up at the house we looked at the wound. It was altogether too shocking. This was surely a death sentence. Aaron quietly voiced the words I couldn’t, “We have to kill it”. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. “But he’s not in pain, he’s not in shock. Look, he’s alert. We can’t just kill him. Let’s bandage him up.” “And then what?” “I dunno” “Honey, he’s going to die” “We’ve got to give him a chance” “He’s going to die” Nothing can prepare you for this. We’ve managed to slaughter animals for food, chopped the heads off chickens, pick up dead animal babies and tried desperately to ease the discomfort of a badly concussed piglet. This was altogether something very different. Different thoughts were flying through my head. There are so many things to consider. What’s best morally, ethically and financially? Our philosophy, as we keep driving home to anyone who will listen is that above all else our animals must be happy. But then this has to be weighed up with our commitment to being able to sustain this lifestyle financially. Running to the vet for every animal injury would send us bankrupt. If this piglet must be euthanised we would need to do it ourselves. Neither of us have medical training above basic First Aid skills. I am especially weak-stomached when it comes to any blood and gore and yet sometimes you just have no choice but to try and cope. I grabbed our First Aid box. It seemed woefully inadequate. Neither of us wanted the responsibility of caring for such a wound. I suggested we ask Marj if she wanted to try out some of her St John’s first aid skills. Aaron phoned but I was secretly glad when she didn’t answer. We both suspected she would tell us to euthanise the piglet. And so Aaron held him as I applied betadine ointment, a gauze pad and a bandage. I was feeling panicked and I couldn’t get the bandage on tightly enough, Aaron tried and then I tried again and eventually the piglet started to stress so much that Aaron insisted we stop. I made the decision to return the piglet to his mum. The fact is he was going to die and the best we could hope for was that he would do so in his sleep in the comfort of his mother’s presence and surrounded by the warmth of his siblings. We took him back and Phyllis made it clear she wasn’t happy we had taken her baby. She sniffed the bandage with displeasure. Monday morning Aaron went to work and I got up at 5 so I could feed out and go back to bed to catch up on sleep. Amazingly the piglet was still alive. Its bandage was missing and I couldn’t see it anywhere. I fed Phyllis and raced up the drive with a squealing piglet. I tried desperately to repeat the dressing by myself but I was scared I would hurt him and did such a bad job that by the time I returned him to an angry Phyllis his bandage was off. I felt completely helpless but I just couldn’t stress the piglet or his mother out anymore so somewhat guiltily I left him to cosy up to his siblings. Phyllis lay down and the piglets all moved in for a feed. I watched as he drank and then left him to it. I would come back later and dress the wound again. It’s hard to know what to do medicinally for animals. I’m well aware that human medicine can have fatal consequences when used on animals. But when you have nothing else you just have to hope for the best. The betadine ointment had worked fine and I knew from experience that MediPulv antiseptic powder was fine on pigs. And so that evening I doused the flesh with MediPulv and applied a large, very sticky plaster. There was a chance he would react to the adhesive but again I deemed it worth the risk. Tuesday morning he was still alive, minus his bandage, and once again I stole him out of the shed and up to the house. The wound looked a lot less raw but was now filthy with mud after leaning up against a freshly wallowed mother. He didn’t like the bath I gave him, nor the drying afterwards. He started to shake and so I quickly powdered and plastered his wound and raced him back to mum. Phyllis had refused to eat her breakfast in my absence and as soon as I returned she shunted her babies into the back corner of the shed and lay down and curled around them. Phyllis was making it abundantly clear that she did not want me anywhere near her babies and quite frankly I am now constantly on alert in case she attacks. There’s a part of me that can’t believe she would but the gnashing teeth and foaming mouth are a clear sign I am making her angry. Things Don’t Get Any Easier Each day I awaken and find 8 live piglets is a small miracle. I do not understand how infection has not set in. By Wednesday he is itching so much that he is rubbing his bandages off. Human plasters just won’t stick or stand up to constant rubbing. Wednesday afternoon Aaron rings me at work. I wait for the inevitable news but it is much worse. Phyllis has badly injured two more piglets and the original injured piglet has rubbed his wound so hard it has started to bleed. Not only that but they have all learnt to wallow and their wounds are caked in mud. Aaron doesn’t want to touch any of them and so I struggle through the rest of my afternoon at work with a heavy weight upon my shoulders. I think now I am beyond coping. There has been too much death, injury and distress in the last few weeks and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge with my coping skills. For the first time since I arrived on the block I actually consider packing my bags and leaving. I want to run away and pretend this is not happening. I arrive home and once again pick up the smallest piglet and take him to the house. I want Aaron to help but he seems to struggle with it. He thinks I am hurting the piglet unnecessarily with trying to clean and bandage him. Aaron has resigned himself to the fact that all our attempts will ultimately be futile and that I am causing the piglet unnecessary stress. We have now both made our decision as to what is best and we do not agree. I am hit with realisation that I now have to do this alone. Phyllis is waiting when I get back. I check the other 2 injured piglets and feel utterly helpless. One of the piglets has had his foot degloved and the other appears to have a broken leg. I can’t do this on my own and Aaron insists that I have to face reality, we are going to lose some piglets and we will just have to cope. I spend the evening with the piglets, bandaging a foot and making sure the broken leg piglet gets enough feed. I want to splint the leg but I know it will be impossible. Phyllis stresses in my presence but puts her babies welfare first and tries to ignore me when she’s feeding. Thursday evening I am home alone. I decide to try clean and bandage the wounds in the paddock but it proves to be a bad mistake. The first injured piglet starts screaming as soon as I pick him up and struggles so much that it takes me a good 15 minutes to finish cleaning and bandaging him. Meanwhile Phyllis and Arthur (across the drive) have become incredibly upset with the piglet’s constant squealing for help. I fully expect to get attacked and a part of me wonders if I deserve it. What the hell am I doing? This isn’t raising happy animals, this is just making animals stressed. And yet I struggle to believe that Aaron’s “Let nature take its course” stance is really the right thing. Friday morning I feed out and check on all the piglets. As Phyllis has breakfast all the piglets engage in an all out piglet brawl, except for one which I suddenly notice lying lifeless in the front corner of the shed. It is not one of the injured ones. Oh my god. With trepidation I reach out to touch it. It’s still warm. I firmly rub his tummy and back. It must have been rolled on. I cannot believe this is happening. I pick him up and he hangs limply from my hand. Despite needing to go to work I decide there and then that I will cuddle him until he passes quietly away. And so I cuddle him, gently rubbling his back and talking quietly too him. And then his eyes suddenly open and he looks at me and I at him and then I see the realisation in his eyes. I’m holding him and he freaks out. I put him down and he races off outside to a couple of his siblings. “You little shit. Don’t you ever to do that to me again!” I am so relieved. The little bugger was just in a very deep sleep.