Above and Beyond

It’s been a long day, and Mom and Steve and I are finally back at the house having some wind-down time before heading to bed. There’s a fire in the woodstove, my lap is full with a crochet project, and the troubles for the day can take a rest. That is, until we hear Kara’s footsteps on the deck and she’s tapping at the French door, her headlight shining.

“We’re streaming milk!” she reports anxiously. “We have to move the pigs to the barn now.” This means that the pregnant sows (momma pigs) she has been watching are very close to giving birth. Currently, there are still in their pasture housing with other sows and one of the boars, and we need to move them to the warmth, comfort, and seclusion of the south wing of the barn, so we don’t have piglets in the snow amidst the competition of the other pigs.

We could have said, “Oh, come on, let’s do that in the morning when we can see what we’re doing.” Or we could have taken the attitude that the pigs would take care of it themselves and didn’t need all the fuss of the barn’s maternity ward, but we knew better. We got back up from our respite, piled on the warm chore clothes, strapped on headlights, and headed out into the night.

Mom and Kara headed to the woodshed to hitch the ATV to the plywood box-on-skids we use for moving our heritage Kunekune pigs—a breed that is thankfully much smaller than standard meat hogs—while Steve and I gathered up the hog boards that would help guide the sows we wanted into the back of the box. A bucket of whole corn served as delicious persuasion, and with practiced skill we were soon trundling the two expectant mothers one at a time from their winter paddocks to the barn door, then ushering them inside to a cozy, straw-festooned jug pen like we use when birthing lambs.

Rigging up one of the barn cameras over the pen made the finishing touches, so Kara could monitor them overnight, and we all went to bed a bit more tired but also relieved to know that the sows were in a safe, comfortable place. By morning, one of them was starting to deliver.

Both of the pregnant Kunekune sows this week were first-time moms. Often, that first delivery can be confusing or challenging to the mother. An inexperienced sow can turn around and want to bite her babies as retribution for the pains of labor, or she can roll over and crush the little ones that are still too weak to move out of the way.

“You need to be there when they give birth?” is a question we hear often. “What do they do in the wild?” The answer, for us, is absolutely we need to be there. And it’s been a long, long time since these animals were wild. The selection process of domestication has not always chosen that which makes birthing easy. They often need our help, and as stewards of these animals, we are responsible for them and to them, no matter what hour or weather conditions. This was especially true this last week with the two sows—most notably the second one.

Kara was late for breakfast the second day after moving the sows. The first had given birth, with a few complications, but now she was doing well and settling into her new life as a mother. Now the second sow was in labor, her body trembling with contractions. The double-ring on the phone lets us know she’s paging us from up-farm, which usually means it’s not good and she needs help.

“The piglet is stuck. I can’t get it out!” Mom’s gone in a flash, even before the pancakes are finished cooking on the griddle. Neither of them make it back for breakfast or even lunch until 2pm before heading back to the barn once more.

In all, it turned into an 18-hour ordeal to save the life of the sow and two of the four piglets. Mom and Kara worked tirelessly to help the sow through her labor, as massive swelling in the wrong places turned the process into a life-threatening situation. Veterinarians over the phone had little more to offer, and Mom relied on her experiences birthing thousands of human babies to save the situation and help sooth the sow, who was in terrible pain and terrified.

We have relationship with our animals on our farm. While they are not pets, neither are they animal units. This red-and-black speckled sow didn’t have to be shoved into a metal crate to force her to stand lock-still while she gave birth. Instead, she was able to snuggle into the straw, her face pressed against Mom’s leg while her back was calmly stroked. The pig even got upset or anxious if Mom left her side. Mom and Kara were exhausted for days after the ordeal, having gone above and beyond to reach the best possible outcome for the situation.

75% of the meat raised in the world and 90% of the meat raised in America does not receive this above and beyond care. It’s raised in terrifying, inhuman conditions where animals are numbers, deaths are expected percentages, and the though of individual relationships with livestock aren’t even on the table. Which of these two worlds would you rather see flourish? Everyone votes with their fork and their food dollar on this issue. Everyone. See you down on the farm sometime.