low rider

[itsmeCindi]

We had a little piggie born two days ago, the runt of the litter. I love the runts, can't wait to get my hands on them, so tiny, so cute. Mixed in as he was with fourteen brothers and sisters, I kept losing track of him and couldn't get close as the sow had the post-farrowing jitters, but Fred, knowing my penchant for runties caught him for me this afternoon.

"Hey, woman, did you look at this little runt up close?" He asked, holding the little pig to his chest.

"No not yet, the mother has kept me at bay, why?"

"C'mere." He says, and then he hands me the little guy.

"What?" I ask, holding him, careful of his cord, checking out his face etc.

"Look at his hind legs."

I did, and lo and behold, he only got half his share back there. From the knees down, there was nothing. Just a smooth stump at the end of each knee just like they were meant to be that way.

"Whuuut? Where's his legs?" I started looking around on the ground like they'd just fallen off somewhere nearby.

"I guess he was last in line and didn't have room to grow them." Fred shrugged.

"Bless his heart!"

Other than the lack of legs he was fine and healthy but the problem remains. Should we let him grow up and totter around on those half back legs? Or should we err...do something now before he reaches four hundred pounds? mmm...mmm...mmm, and he would have to be the runt. [img]/forums/images/icons/frown.gif[/img]

[RichZ]

I'm REAL interested to see how you handle this problem, Cindi!!!

Please keep us posted.

[itsmeCindi]

Will, do Rich.

[mundamanu]

I have a question. By "knees," do you mean the pig's anatomical "knees" (the end of the femur) or the anatomical "ankles," which is what we usually call a four-legged animal's knees? If it's the anatomical knees, then I don't think he'll be able to get his rear end up off the ground. His mobility will be seriously compromised and any cuts, scrapes or other wounds he gets will likely be prone to infection.

If, however, it is the ankles, then I think that as he gets bigger his bones and muscles will grow to compensate and he'll be able to get around just fine on his stumps.

I always love to see animals competely transcend what for us humans often sadly amount to socio-culturally insurmountable obstacles. So, if I were you and I could afford him, and it's the ankles and not the knees, I'd keep him. Obviously you don't want him breeding in case his low-riding is genetic and not environmental. If he ends up being too much trouble, you can sell him cheap or eat him.

But then again, since the closest I've ever come to a pig is the grocery store, I haven't got the foggiest idea what I'm talking about. [img]/forums/images/icons/grin.gif[/img]

[itsmeCindi]

It sounded great to me! It is, unfortunately, the knees. I checked him this afternoon and he has some abrasions and one leg was bleeding ever so slightly. Not a good sign.

[itsmeCindi]

Today was ‘handling’ day. Forty-three piglets caught, checked out, given shots, and the males castrated. Low Rider was one of the last pigs to be caught. Being a male, and since the decision had been made to treat him the same as the others, he was marked, ear tagged, given shots and castrated. As if he didn’t have enough problems.

As is our normal procedure, Fred performs the surgery while I hold the pigs, so by now I had been scratched, bitten, kicked, and soiled by twenty some odd little boars who were not as prepared or willing to give up the items we were after as quietly as we would have wished. All except Low Rider. Weighing in at a scant eight pounds, I expected him to be easy to handle. What I hadn’t expected was for him to lie sedately through the procedure and then almost instantly after, to fall quietly asleep cupped in my hands. ****.

“Oh my God, he’s so cute.” I said, stupidly.

Low Rider’s brown eyes drifted closed and he let out a hitching little sigh, as my fingers found the soft spots at the backs of his ears and began to scratch gently. I didn’t have a thing to do with it, the fingers had taken on a life of their own. I knew better than to become attached to this little piglet. He had a grim future and I in no way planned to develop a soft spot for him. No way. Even if he reached his weight potential, who wanted to buy a pig with one and a half legs on each side? Even a meat pig. It was laughable. Now when he was still small, it was cute to watch him scoot around. Would it still be cute six months from now? Or would it just be sad? What would happen to him had he been born in the wild? Chances are, with the transient habits of wild hogs he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had. He would have been left behind long ago to fend for himself and would have died.

“He is, isn’t he?” Fred confirmed. “Shame he has to be out there with all the others getting knocked around and having to struggle to get his food. Doesn't seem fair really.”

I felt the first stirrings of maternal concern as I got a mental picture of him struggling to push himself into the milk line with only those two little stumps to aid him. No wonder he was still so small. No matter how I fought it, I knew that I was a goner. Despite being disadvantaged, Low Rider was clean, small, snowy white and ****-it-all, sweet as honey, and he was worming his way into my heart. I had let my defenses down and pushed common sense to the side and now I was paying the price.

“You know,” somebody said, “we could put him in that little crate of Rocky’s and feed him on his own.”

“The metal grate in the bottom might be hard on his back legs, though.” Fred said, looking at me.

Oh. I guess it was me who suggested the crate.

“But we could scatter hay in the bottom of it. That would help.” I suggested, beyond caring now, allowing myself to be dragged willingly into becoming fond of Low Rider. He still slept on his back in my hands and the weight of him felt wonderful.

“Well.” Fred said clapping his hands together. "Whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it. We’ve got more work to do.”

“I know.” I said, still cupping the little pig. Now I was reluctant to let him go. “I know.” I said again, stalling.

“Well?”

After twenty years Fred knows me better than just about anybody on earth. He knew I was wavering. He also knew that we were taking on a hell of a responsibility. Everything is cute when it’s a baby. What was Low Rider going to be like when he was three hundred pounds? Was he going to be miserable? Were we delaying the inevitable?

“It’s a mistake.” I said lamely. “Here.” I handed Low Rider to my daughter. “Put him in the crate and put some hay in there. Give him a bowl of water.”

“Does this mean we get to pet him?” She asked. Up to this point we had never had a ‘pet pig’. Especially one that could grow to five hundred pounds. I looked her in the eye and squared my jaw.

“Yes.” I replied firmly. “Well, and often.”

(to be cont.) [img]/forums/images/icons/blush.gif[/img]

[RichZ]

Hee, hee, hee!!!! [img]/forums/images/icons/laugh.gif[/img]

I knew this was gonna happen!!!!! [img]/forums/images/icons/laugh.gif[/img]

As tough as you both try to seem, you and Fred are really a couple of softies!!!! [img]/forums/images/icons/grin.gif[/img]

You're doing exactly the same thing I would do, only difference between us, is that I admit that I'm a softie!!!!! [img]/forums/images/icons/tongue.gif[/img]

Good luck with your little buddy!!!! [img]/forums/images/icons/cool.gif[/img]

[mundamanu]

Good luck, Cindi! I'm sure he and you all will do just fine. You'd just better make sure he doesn't think he's a lap pig! [img]/forums/images/icons/smile.gif[/img]

[itsmeCindi]

No worries. He's about half wild, and when I took him in the house and bathed him I almost lost a few fingers. He's back with his mama. Since all the other weanlings have been penned up now, he has mom all to himself which really makes the most sense. He's doing great but he's all dirty again. [img]/forums/images/icons/grin.gif[/img]