One of the first things you are told when dealing with animals that you will eventually slaughter is do not ‘humanize’ them. In other words don’t name them! We generally don’t name our pigs. Yes, for ease of communicating with each other we do name the sows, but usually it is the ‘gilts’ or the ‘boars’ or the ‘3 musketeers’ – something very generic.
This post however is about how the best made plans can go out the window AND how a pig can get a name!
I’m sure it happens to everybody. You plan out your day with all you are going to achieve, then, WHAM something happens and that’s the end of those plans.
Well that’s exactly what happened to me some months back. Why has it taken me this long to write about it? Well…. I wasn’t quite sure how to tell you all about it! So bear with me while I paint the picture 🙂
You will learn about the exceptionally glamorous (not) life I lead.
It was a beautiful sunny Spring day. Perfect I thought for baking and taking some photographs. I had a new recipe book with some lovely recipes I wanted to try. I had envisaged a day of lovely calmness and beautiful styling and photographs.
Chores all done…. ingredients all ready… and we are ready to rock n roll.
Except!!!!!
I happened to glance out the kitchen window and see that one of the pigs in the pen closest to the house seemed to be dragging a twig or something along with him as he walked. Mentioned this to Alfie who headed off to check. Next thing it was ‘can you come and help, we need to isolate this pig’.
Oh, and by the way bring your camera.
So being the ever obedient obliging person I am, I got changed and off I went to help – camera in hand.
Two hours later, having isolated the pig, wrestled the poor animal to the floor and immobilized him. He had been fully examined. And this is where I struggled for the past few months, how do I tell you ‘politely’ what the problem was???
He had a ‘broken willy’.
You’ve heard of Free Willy, well forever more this poor guy will be referred to as Broken Willy.
He had been in a field with 8 other boys, there had obviously been some ‘horseplay’ and IT broke. I won’t go into the intricate details of how this happened. I think you can use your imagination well enough and I firmly believe that would be way too much information (and imagine the spam that would encourage).
Broken Willy
So IT had to be cleaned (and photographed) and he was isolated on a bed of clean straw to prevent infection – as it wouldn’t retract.
Infection was our biggest worry, as it was literally trailing on the ground. So clean shed, clean straw and there he stayed until we could get him an appointment at the abattoir 🙂
When all this had been done…. the light was gone, my energy and enthusiasm for baking and all things nice had been sapped…. so baking had to wait for another day!
A glamorous life I lead, eh?
A Year In Redwood 
Don’t tell me you had slaughtered just because of a ‘broken willy’?
Hi Ena,
Wasn’t just because it was broken… really because it wouldn’t retract and was trailing along the ground.
M
Poor little Broken Willy 😦 Those bad brothers of his!
So did you eat him, or was he too small?
He was a bit small, but we still ate him 🙂
I bet he was delicious, broken willy and all 🙂 We always named our cows; it was a small herd of highland cattle and they were easily recognizable, individually. Also, it helped us remember what year they were born in as all the calves in one year would have a name beginning with the same letter (not our only ordering system but the one we enjoyed the most!). I was a vegetarian for years, as a result.
To come up with names for them can sometimes be a struggle…. especially if a sow has 12 or 14 babies in one go!
Thanks for commenting and following! 🙂
Margaret
Very funny. Poor Broken Willy.
How I wish this post had been “Freshly Pressed!!”
Trust me he was very nice and much appreciated! 🙂
And I guess he would have loved to have been ‘Freshly Pressed’
Margaret