Porkchop....

[Anonymous Poster]

When we first moved to our farm, we purchased two Duroc barrows for the express purpose of putting them in the freezer. We treated these animals with respect and kindness, despite their dubious future, and were under the impression that we could pet and care for these animals and still covet the meat. I still feel this way.

Anyhow, the day came when 'Porkchop' was due to meet his fate so we pulled the trailer around to load him up for his final ride. I knew by the angle of the trailer and the proximity of the gate that if Porkchop so chose he could find an escape route. Well, he so chose. He wriggled his way out and was heading for the front gate before I could form the words to tell my husband that he was loose.

He hit the gate and made a sharp left into the neighbors pasture and as he passed the neighbor’s fence, which consisted of one strand of electric, he got zapped. No amount of pushing, pulling, baiting, begging, or reasoning was going to get this pig to come back out the way he went in. We took the fence down and even walked back and forth through the opening to show him the danger was passed, but no cookie.

The thing was discussed and my husband made up his mind that there was only one option so that the neighbor could get his fence back up and we could get on our way. He sent my son in the house to get the gun.

I gave the kids the option of being present or not, based on their own personal squeamish scales and they all decided to be present. My son is an avid hunter and had already steeled himself for the coming event. The girls and I plugged our ears with our fingers and alternately opened and snapped shut our eyes in horrible anticipation. My husband baited Porkchop close, and he ambled up like a pig who had never been abused in his life and never expected he would be.

If the first shot had done the deed then I suppose I wouldn't have broken down and sobbed like a baby, but it didn't. Porkchop squealed and shook his head like he'd been stung in the forehead by a particularly nasty bee. It took two more shots to accomplish the goal and by this time all three of us girls were sobbing openly. Porkchop was blissfully unaware that we were the source of his pain, I however was not and at that moment I was the most wretched creature on earth.

My husband went off to get the four-wheeler to pull Porkchop out, and the neighbor wandered up with a length of rope in his hand.

"Sorry about your pig." He said softly. I explained to him that the pig had been on his way to slaughter and had been slated for the freezer and was not a pet.

"So you were gonna kill him anyway?"

I watched his expression change as it dawned on him that he was dealing with a bunch of soft city women. Things did not go the way they were supposed to, we were supposed to be able to bid Porkchop a fond farewell and thank him silently for the supreme sacrifice he was making for our family, and leave the dirty work to someone else, but it all turned upside down and backwards and chaotic.

Despite all this, when I gathered the courage to walk up to Porkchop and look him over, what I saw lying there was not Porkchop, but meat. When my husband opened a vein to bleed him I got a glimpse of fat, and meat, and saw food to feed my family.

The second pig, a few months later, went smoothly. He left in the trailer, sniffling and snuffling and grunting, unlike Porkchop, and like Porchop, came home in tidy little white packages. What I learned from this, is to be prepared to do what I would ask others to do, because the day may come when I may be asked to do just that.

I have nightmares of losing my husband and being a little old lady with a cane, stumbling out to put a pig or chicken down on my own and think that I have to swallow around the lump in my throat and remember that I chose this life, the good and the bad. Pork doesn't start out in little styrofoam boats. Somebody out there does this job day after day, week after week, and I have developed a whole new respect for that somebody.

 

[RichZ]

I gotta say, Cindi, you're a pretty tough lady. Like you, my wife and I moved from the suburbs to our farm. Right now, we're just hobby farmers, but our goal is to farm full time. We have only one rule. We want livestock that we can make money from without having to kill them.

Don't get me wrong. We're not vegetarians, and we know where meat comes from. But we just can't raise an animal to have it killed. We get attached to them all. So we have laying hens for eggs, and we're planning on getting into dairy goats in a few weeks.

I thought our soft feelings would stop us from being serious farmers, until we met and became good friends with a family who are full time dairy farmers. When their cows get too old to be milk producers, they go out to the "retirement pasture". When they die, believe it or not, they have a cow graveyard. When they calf, heiffers become part of the herd. The bull babies are tough, but they desperately try to find other herds that need a bull (all their animals are registered Holsteins). They've shipped them all over the country, to try to avoid them ending up as veal (though sometimes it does happen). This week a cow had a breach birth at night, when no one was there to help. The calf died, of course, and the mama cow is in pretty bad shape. But they're desperately trying to save her. She's given them milk for 8 years, and they want to repay her efforts.

I respect your abilities, Cindi, but we just can't do it. And we're very happy that we found some full time farmers who feel the way we do. At least one of our farming friends don't think we're nuts!!! /forums/images/graemlins/wink.gif

 

[Anonymous Poster]

I respect that. I really do. There are animals on our farm that we would never dream of putting down, but at the same time, one of the reasons we got into farming was to have fresh food. Therein lies the rub. Also, there are times when tough things have to be done to be humane as I learned. Read on and tell me what you think. Caution, it is mildly graphic.

I bought six female pygmy goats and one male pygmy goat. One nanny delivered two half formed babies and then promptly died. Another delivered one large half formed kid and survived despite my clumsy ministrations and efforts to help. Recently I found a third nanny in the pasture well into the throes of labor. She was weak, bleeding, and had clearly given up. I would not have noticed her had she not cried out as I went past on the four wheeler after freeing another goat from the fence.

These goats are half wild, so when I walked right up to her without her trying to run I clenched my teeth and swallowed around a lump in my throat because I knew what was coming. I did everything I had been instructed to do, and everything I had done with the last miserable birth. I got hold of a leg pulled and pulled and tugged trying to get the other leg or the head out to get a better purchase, and got no results. Finally I did a ‘physical exam’ and discovered that the head was at least two to three times the size of the opening it was trying to pass through.

Since the last disastrous birth I did some research on pygmies and learned that they can be a little tricky to breed. These goats had all been bred when we got them, and with the track record they had thus far I knew that this one was probably not going to be pretty either, especially since this goat was one of the smallest of the bunch. After it became clear that the baby was stillborn, I had to make a decision. I knew I couldn't save the mother and was only trying to save the baby anyway.

I have never willingly or purposefully killed anything before. I usually save this task for my husband or my son, who both hunt and know how to do this thing mercifully. However, I couldn't let her lay there for another eight to ten hours until my husband got home. There is no vet that will visit here, and I was on foot, having no transportation available.

I went into the house and got the thirty eight pistol, a gun that is 'mine' but that I have fired maybe twice. I fired a round into the dirt first to re-acquaint myself with the kick, etc., and then I looked this poor little goat in the eye, placed the barrel between her horns and fired.

I laid the gun down on the grass and went about busying myself with picking up stray pieces of paper that had blown into the pasture, all the while deliberately not looking at her. I waited almost three minutes before I did look at her. Almost simultaneously her eyes went dull and I knew that she was gone. After about ten minutes, when I had stopped shaking, wiped my eyes, and had almost gotten over hating myself, I examined her and found that the bullet had entered just above her right eye, or an inch or so away from the spot I had aimed for.

I can only assume that she moved slightly and that I must have had my eyes squeezed shut but don’t remember closing them. I know that this is an unfortunate part of farming. I know that I will see and be responsible for the deaths of animals and it can't be avoided, but never will I ever buy another animal that I haven't researched first. All things considered if there's a 'good way' to do this job I think I did okay, and have passed another hurdle regarding things that I worry about having to do but have never done before. Maybe in time things like this won't work on my conscience quite so much but I feel fairly certain that I will never forget this little goat who looked to me for help that I was too inexperienced and undereducated to offer. If anything good has come from this it is that I will be much more selective in the animals that I choose and buy. These nannies were already in trouble when I got them, but had I known a little bit about what I was doing they would be someone else's problem right now.

Now on the upside, this little nanny's sister gave birth to a HUGE baby, just fine, and all the other nannies did fine as well. I just got my second set of twins from the one who miscarried the last time, just this morning.

 

[bgott]

I've been through that drill with pigs before. You need to use the biggest gun you can get because they don't kill easily. Do you have anyone in your area that will butcher your animals onsite?

 

[RichZ]

Wow, Cindi!!! I repeat what I said before, you are one tough lady!!!!

I have a great deal of respect for what you did for the goat. It was the only way that you could help her. You had to end her suffering.

I do wildlife rehabilatation as a hobby. The one thing that I can't do is euthanize. Sometimes I wish I could. Luckily, I've always had vets that would work with me, and know my severe limitation in this area. Not to be sexist, but I've always prefered lady vets, because I've always felt that they were more understanding about these things. They've helped me do what had to be done, and then we've all had a good cry together. No matter what the critter is, I feel that everything has a right to live. I've rehabed critters from mice on up, but euthanizing is something I can't handle. I'd never make much of a hunter!!

The thing that does upset me about your story is the fact that you can't get a vet to come out to your place. That's a big problem!!! We use a veterinary practice with three lady vets. We've called them at all hours, and one has always been to our farm within an hour, less if it was an emergency. Farming communities usually have several vets that make "farm calls". Have you tried every vet in the area?

 

[Anonymous Poster]

BGott.....if there is one I don't know about it. My husband keeps saying he's going to put up a shed for that purpose. He hunts all the time and cleans deer, etc, but we just don't have a good hygenic place to do it, or the saws, etc.

Rich, I wish I had had a shot to give her to put her down more humanely and I keep saying when I have the money I'll get something to keep on hand. Our problem is we have three vets nearby and one of them is small animals only. Also there are two or three big ranches around and the others seem to stay booked up. There is one mobil vet that will come out here. We had to get him to put down a six hundred pound boar that broke his leg. But he usually has a forty eight hour notice. We had to keep the boar on pain killers and banamine until he could get here to do the deed.

 

[RichZ]

Cindi, I guess I'm lucky, but our vets, as well as most of the other vets around here will come in an emergency. And an animal in pain counts as an emergency.

Our mastiff, Mulder, had surgery on both his knees last year (one at a time). After the first surgery, although they kept him overnight, the pain medication they sent him home with wasn't enough. My poor boy was in pain, big time. One of our vets came over and gave him a shot, and told us to call her every other hour for updates, all through the night. I felt guilty walking her up all night, but she said that she gave him more pain meds than she'd like, and she wanted to make sure he was OK. (He was fine after that.)

Our vets have come over to our farm at all hours of the night for: injured goats, a sick horse, an injured horse, a foundered horse and a sick dog. Each time they came, they agreed calling them was the right thing to do. And they didn't gouge us with the charges either.

To me a good vet or group of vets is one of the most important things that a farm must have.

 

[Bird]

Cindi, I suspect I can relate to your story about the pig killing as well as anyone.

The summer that I was 9 years old, my granddad sold his farm. He had two registered Berkshire sows that had been bred, so he told me he would bring them to our place and he'd pay for the feed if I'd do all the work of taking care of them until the little ones were born and big enough to sell and I'd get half the litters. Sounded good to me, but with my usual luck, it was hot summer time, the sows were a bit wild, and in the stress of getting them loaded and transported to our place, one of them got too hot and died. The other one did well, so I joined the 4-H club and decided to learn to be a pig famer. Now the old sow only had 5 baby pigs, but she still took the blue ribbon for a sow and litter at the county fair that Fall. Then when the pigs were big enough, granddaddy sold the sow and 4 of the pigs, gave me half the money for the 4 pigs and said I could keep the 5th one, a barrow. Now like your Porkchop, he was raised as a pet, even broke to ride which took some time and patience, and by the time of the Junior Livestock Show the following Spring, he weighed in at an even 300 pounds, which was the maximum allowable at that time for the heavy weight class. He took the blue ribbon for the heavy weight Berkshire class, but what I was even prouder of was the fact that I won the Showmanship ribbon because he was so gentle that I could get him to go wherever I wanted and to stand still when I wanted. Incidentally, I still have the ribbons, along with a few more from the following years.

So far everything was great; however . . . ., after the show the prize winners are sold at auction and local businesses bid high to help the kids who raised the animals, and the local Ford dealer bid 51 cents a pound for him. Now $153 may not seem very much for a pig today, but in 1950 I bought a good young registered brood sow for $50 of that money. Now I had known all along what a barrow's fate will be, but I can tell you that night when we left the auction arena, and that ghoul with the electric shears ran those shears right up my pig's back to mark him and I had to walk away, this kid had a hard time choking back the tears.

So I was in the hog raisin' business and that meant providing meat for the family in addition to what money I could make. I never let myself get that attached to a meat animal again, but now we were going to have to either slaughter them ourselves or hire it done. Well, we got lucky. There was an older fellow in town who would come to the house, kill, bleed, skin, gut, and saw in half a hog or a beef just for the hide. He shot them between the eyes with a .22 and they dropped right there. But then came a day when Dad called that guy and he was busy, but said he could send his son to do the job. The boy (maybe 20) showed up, we let the pig out of the pen and poured some corn under a big tree where we had the single tree to hoist the carcass. The pig went right to the corn, the kid stood 4' in front of the pig with the .22 . . . and shot the pig through the cheek. Now you know what happened next. The pig's charging across the pasture toward the creek, squealing . . ., well, like a stuck hog, Mother's wringing her hands with tears in her eyes, my two little sisters are screaming and crying, Dad's yelling at me to bring him his ball peen hammer as he and the kid go charging across the pasture after the pig. Dad had visions of knocking the pig in the head with the hammer, but after the pig settled down a bit, we drove it back up under the tree by the barn and the kid's second shot downed it there. They had decided they didn't want to kill it in the pasture and have to drag it all the way back. I decided on the spot that I never wanted to work in a slaughter house, and Dad decided that he would never have that kid kill another of our animals.

As luck would have it, the next time we were ready to slaughter an animal, the old guy who'd done it before said hide prices had gone down, so he wanted the hide AND $5. No way Dad was going to pay such high prices, so from then on we had to do it ourselves. At least when Dad shot one, it dropped right there, but I always dreaded the day we had that job to do.

When I went back to a farm in later life, I knew there would never be a milk cow ('cause that's twice a day every day no matter what) and the only animals I raised and killed myself were rabbits and I even hated that job.

And, Cindi, since you mentioned butchering a pig, I was wondering whether you scraped or skinned it. I can vaguely remember my granddad scalding and scraping pigs, but Dad didn't like that "rind" or skin, so we skinned them. For anyone who's skinned deer, beef, etc., you know you cut some and just peel some off, but with a hog, you cut every inch of the way; not a fun job.

 

[Dozernut]

Bird
Boy that brought back some memories. We used to butcher in November or December as we had no refrigeration. We would scrape the hogs after dipping them in a 55 gallon drum of boiling water. This would ease the removal of the bristles. It would usually snow on us and it was a wet, cold and miserable job. We usually butchered with my uncle and would do 3-4 hogs at a time.
We would make cracklins out of the rinds on the wood stove. This was a tasty chore, but a cholesterol nightmare. That jowl bacon sure was good with fresh eggs from the chicken house.
This was a simpler time but a much harder time. We would pick corn with a single row corn picker pulled with an old AC tractor. We would then have to shovel off the wagon by hand into the corn crib.
It is good to reminisce about the old days but I don't believe I would want to go back, it was work from sunup to sundown.

 

[Anonymous Poster]

Bird, great story! I don't remember mentioning butchering a hog, but there was one wild boar that we did butcher, it was only about ninety pounds and Fred skinned it, then he just quartered it and put it in the freezer.