|Missy (left) and Little Red|
She had just had a litter of piglets -- 10 happy little ones -- a couple weeks ago and was in the barn, co-parenting with first-time mom Victoria and her litter of 6. In fact, it was when we were opening up her farrowing stall to the common area that joins with Victoria's stall when we noticed that something was really, terribly wrong.
Before Saturday she had seemed lethargic and irritable, by turns. I figured that she was slightly depressed, postpartum (It totally happens. Chilly the Pig was completely distraught after weaning. No interest in food, companionship, the boar, grazing, nothing. She spent her days laying in a sad heap and breaking out of the pasture to wander listlessly around the barn, knocking over tools and wheelbarrows. She's fine now, although she still spends more time than the other breeder pigs visiting with the younger ones through the fence.).
|Missy and Little Red. Can you sense the theme? They were very close.|
We were at a loss of what to do with her. She had 10 piglets that she was nursing, all mixed in and inseparable at this point with Victoria's. We didn't want to move Victoria to be with the other new moms, co-parenting in a separate area of the barn, for fear she was contaminated and would spread the blood-puke. We didn't want to separate Missy out for fear that Victoria wouldn't be able to sustain 16 piglets alone. We left them in together and hoped for the best, googling furiously and finding a depressing void of information on both "sow vomiting blood" and "farm veterinarian."
Over the next few days, Missy seemed to improve. She stopped vomiting, allowed her piglets to nurse (but only sometimes), and never failed to grunt a greeting to farmers.
On Tuesday night, I found another pool of bloody vomit. This one was especially disconcerting, because it seemed to contain a hunk of an internal organ (stomach was my guess). More antibiotics were administered.
Nick found her dead on Wednesday morning. He had to shoo away piglets attempting to nurse, and chase off an especially ardent defender piglet standing on top of Missy, refusing to leave. Things like this suck to deal with just as much as you would imagine. Not to mention the fact that, when death happens, and an animal becomes a body, that is the time when you feel how actually physical the animal was, how much weight the animal carried and how much space the animal displaced...especially a sow of Missy's size (500 pounds or so, over waist-high on this farmer). Despite any emotions, it has to be dealt with: body moved, earth moved, compost moved.
Missy dying is a different thing for us than a butcher hog slaughtered for meat, economically, obviously, but also emotionally. All the animals that die on the farm get an appropriate amount of respect; it is always a solemn thing and we treat it as such. It is always, on some level, a hard thing and a messy thing, and a strange thing. But Missy's death was harder and messier. She is the first of the breeders to go. She had a personality that we knew. We had a relationship with her, and she had one with us. Logically, we know we did all we could for her given the circumstances, but we will still spend some time chastising ourselves for not doing more.
|Little Red, Stripe, and their piglets|
Somehow, death events like this tend to be accompanied by subtle little affirmations of life. Last year's broody hen has done it again, and debuted her new little fluffballs.
|The broody, (shy), speckled hen and her new fluffy specklings|