Walking through the village with the dogs a few minutes ago, I spied affable despot Jason ambling down Chapel Street with his daughter on his shoulders.
"Have they gone?!" he called over and when I shouted out that they had, he added with a chuckle
"Bet you feel like that chap out of Schindler's List"
Sweet natured number 12 and the killer-on-trotters number 21 left the field peacefully this morning. The Red Faced Welsh Farmer and his ever cheerful son Ed turned up exactly on time as did my farmer friends Eirlys and John, who had kindly agreed to give us a hand and after a quick chin wag and "plan of attack", we set up a whole line of hurdles leading a path up to the waiting loose box by the gate.
I filled a bucket with corn, opened the enclosure gate and called the pigs out. Number 21 followed me immediately, with number 12 tottering up rather shyly behind, and within five minutes we had just about loaded 12 into the trailer where he peacefully scooped up big mouthfuls of corn with relish. The more sly number 21 played up just a little and tiptoed gaily around the field for a few minuteds, presumably searching for a spare hen to kill, followed by all of my helpers with their pig boards at the ready.
Neither pig was stressed, that's all I was truly bothered about, and when we eventually loaded 21, they both looked as though a trip in a trailer was the most natural thing in the world for both of them to be doing on a cold Tuesday morning.
Their calmness made me feel so much better, I just couldn't bare seeing them anxious and frightened.
|At the abattoir|
It was the same story when we arrived at the butcher's abattoir, where a huge South African Butcher, gently encouraged them both into their holding pen. "He's a big friendly bastard" he commented when number 12 ambled forward to sniff at some tiny looking porkers in the next stall, and a second later I was off to complete the paperwork . It was as quick and as simple as that.. no time for "goodbyes....no time for second thoughts!
I was glad I was with the RFWF He would have stamped on any indulgent emotional romp if I dared to perform one.Things had to be matter of fact...that is the rule with farm animals.
"You are now a real farmer!" the RFWF said as we drove off......."welcome to the club "