I had a call from a man who bought four show pigs from us last year. He'd decided that he wanted to raise a pig for the freezer, and now that the piglets are weaned I knew I had plenty for him to choose from, so I told him to come on and have a look.
This is the same man who pre-chose the afore-mentioned show pigs when they were only three days old, and who we had to call mere days before he was due to pick them up and tell him that three out of the four pigs he had chosen, were cryptorchid.
Cryptorchid means that only one testicle had descended. Not only does that mean that the little boars could not be show pigs, because they were still producing testosterone, but it meant that they were partially viable, or intact, and that they could produce offspring, and it has been a rule since day one that no boar leaves this farm carrying productive DNA. He ended up having to pick three more pigs. Having a farming background, he understood immediately. The cyyptorchid boars were slaughtered before they reached mating age, and never saw the show ring.
I explained to him before he came out this time, that the little boars had not been castrated yet. We don't do ours at a day or two old like most folks do. We generally do them all in one fell swoop at anywhere from three to six weeks depending on how many sows we have farrowing, but I explained that I had plenty of gilts to choose from, or that if he chose a boar, we could cut it, and he could pick it up later.
Somehow the wires got crossed, and he showed up wanting not only a male, but not wanting to come back later either, as it was a pretty good drive for him, so we had what is referred to as a 'situation'. It only takes a few minutes to castrate, but Fred does the cutting, and Fred wasn't home.
"I sure would like to have that white boar right there." The man said, not wanting to look at gilts at all.
"My husband would skin me if I let that boar leave the property without being cut." I replied. "He can't leave here with bumpers," I said, trying to cut the tension, "only mud flaps." That produced a chuckle, but no solution.
We kind of stood there in the morning sunlight staring at each other, him jingling his keys in his pocket, and me determined not to break my long-standing rule about not doing castrations. There are just certain things that I will not do, and that is at the top of my list.
"Well, I have the stuff if you want to do the cutting." I said. "I'll hold him for you. As long as he leaves here and leaves those two items behind, you get what you want and I get to stay married." I grinned.
He looked at me like I'd suddenly suggested that he don a grass skirt and do a hula on the front lawn.
"Oh now, I don't know about that." He said, shaking his head slowly. "I've done it before, but it's been thirty years or more since then."
"Well, I'm pretty sure not much has changed in that area." I assured him. I really wanted to make the sale, I needed the fifty bucks and I knew he wanted to take the pig home, and it seemed like the perfect solution to me. "Come on," I said, "I can help you."
The next thing I knew we were laying out razor, betadine and penicillin shot on the tailgate of his truck.
I have seen men shake before, but as I stood there holding that little pig, I was instantly concerned with where my fingers were in relation to the single-edged razor blade that he weilded. I felt a little sorry for him, he was sweating bullets, and had gone white as a sheet. I felt the need to reassure him once again.
"Like, I said," I reminded him, "piglets haven't changed much in thirty years. You'll find 'em just where they were the last time."
He met my eyes and grinned at me, and a visible calm settled over him, and he went to work. As a matter of fact, he was so steady and so sure, that the piglet didn't know what hit him until the procedure was very near to over.
During the process, the man's three year old son wandered up and got an eyeful.
"Why you gonna cut the pig? Why you have to cut it, Daddy?"
The impromptu surgeon was blinking sweat out of his eyes and beyond being able to answer such a question, so I said...
"Well he's sick, and we're trying to make him better."
"Uh huh." Grunted the man."Yeah... that's it." He said to his son, and then to me. "Good one." With a wink.
By then, the deed was done with little more than one startled squawk from the piglet. Now it was the eight year old son who needed informaton.
"How does cutting that part out make him better?" One eyebrow cocked, a suspicious glint in his eyes. This question was posed by a kid who clearly understood that there was more to the whole deal than met the eye.
"That one's all yours." I said to the man, and laughed.
"I'll explain it to you later, son." The man said.
I produced a bar of soap and we both washed our hands at the water hose.
"You did a great job." I said. "Very clean, very neat."
"Well," he said, shaking the excess water from his hands, "I guess you're right. Must be like riding a bike. Once you learn how, you never forget."
He left with his pig, and his two sons and a lot of explaining to do to that eight year old, but with the gentle way he handled that piglet I felt more than certain that he would find a tactful, educational, yet sensitive way to handle the barrage of questions that was sure to come his way on that long drive home. [img]/forums/images/icons/wink.gif[/img]
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made in Korea Vin
