![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormYesterday something happened that I'd been worried about for a long time.
Penny died. I wasn't worried particularly about Penny, but about any adult pig dying. It being Penny makes it emotionally harder; she's the last remaining of my first girls, she was looking sick for a day or two but I can't get a vet up here so I'm blaming myself for not trying an antibiotic shot the first day; I loved her a lot.
It being an adult pig is logistically a nightmare. I got the Ossabaws because they're on the small side, but she's still a 300lb dead weight. Even if I could dig a hole deep enough for her to not be exhumed by wildlife (maybe rent a tractor) the ground is frozen right now. So I had to get her out of the pig house, across the field, and up into the pickup truck before the other pigs ate her. To be clear, I could drag her about six inches at a time using every bit of my strength, then rest awhile.
I am very lucky to have two things: Tucker, who's still (barely) in town, and wheels, in this case a furniture dolly which seemed the better option than the wheelbarrow. He managed to make time to help me between his new job and his evening concert; it took us an hour to move her about a hundred feet and get her onto the truck. She had died early in the morning, so she was starting to swell up and there was intestinal leakage from front and back.
People say they can't handle watching their food killed. Apparently plenty of people leave their animals in the vet's for euthanasia because they can't stand to be there. Today, the day after, I wish everyone the kind of intimate physical contact with a dead loved one where they're using every ounce of their strength and breathing in shit and gas in order to dispose of the body, not in an honoured spot under a beautiful tree, but out where it will be scavenged in the snow.
I don't wish everyone doing that between a workday and and evening second job(third, is the farm a job?). I don't wish anyone thinking they might ever have to do it alone.
So today I'm numb and raw and angry and Avallu jumped the fence and was chasing cars (also there's a neighbour that will shoot him on sight if he's out) and I need to figure out a zoom presentation for tomorrow and vaccine card regulations before heading to the airport to view the new property and I don't *want* to.
I've spent the last hour looking over possible gene inputs for the Sayward property summer cover; cool tolerance is good but so is disease resistance and I can handle a longer season.
Luckily it snowed last night so I could find where Avallu got out by his tracks and patch the fence there. I'm going to be gone and Tucker will be coming by to feed once a day; he really can't be getting out.
I'll water all the plants well and set them up for me leaving.
And I'll take this long-anticipated event as a sign that sometimes I really do need to be around folks who can help. It's not good to be doing something like this alone.
Penny died. I wasn't worried particularly about Penny, but about any adult pig dying. It being Penny makes it emotionally harder; she's the last remaining of my first girls, she was looking sick for a day or two but I can't get a vet up here so I'm blaming myself for not trying an antibiotic shot the first day; I loved her a lot.
It being an adult pig is logistically a nightmare. I got the Ossabaws because they're on the small side, but she's still a 300lb dead weight. Even if I could dig a hole deep enough for her to not be exhumed by wildlife (maybe rent a tractor) the ground is frozen right now. So I had to get her out of the pig house, across the field, and up into the pickup truck before the other pigs ate her. To be clear, I could drag her about six inches at a time using every bit of my strength, then rest awhile.
I am very lucky to have two things: Tucker, who's still (barely) in town, and wheels, in this case a furniture dolly which seemed the better option than the wheelbarrow. He managed to make time to help me between his new job and his evening concert; it took us an hour to move her about a hundred feet and get her onto the truck. She had died early in the morning, so she was starting to swell up and there was intestinal leakage from front and back.
People say they can't handle watching their food killed. Apparently plenty of people leave their animals in the vet's for euthanasia because they can't stand to be there. Today, the day after, I wish everyone the kind of intimate physical contact with a dead loved one where they're using every ounce of their strength and breathing in shit and gas in order to dispose of the body, not in an honoured spot under a beautiful tree, but out where it will be scavenged in the snow.
I don't wish everyone doing that between a workday and and evening second job(third, is the farm a job?). I don't wish anyone thinking they might ever have to do it alone.
So today I'm numb and raw and angry and Avallu jumped the fence and was chasing cars (also there's a neighbour that will shoot him on sight if he's out) and I need to figure out a zoom presentation for tomorrow and vaccine card regulations before heading to the airport to view the new property and I don't *want* to.
I've spent the last hour looking over possible gene inputs for the Sayward property summer cover; cool tolerance is good but so is disease resistance and I can handle a longer season.
Luckily it snowed last night so I could find where Avallu got out by his tracks and patch the fence there. I'm going to be gone and Tucker will be coming by to feed once a day; he really can't be getting out.
I'll water all the plants well and set them up for me leaving.
And I'll take this long-anticipated event as a sign that sometimes I really do need to be around folks who can help. It's not good to be doing something like this alone.
