Bringing Home The Bacon

Can you remember the last time you came face to snout with a pig?  If not then you may simply have the children’s picture book image lodged in that area of the brain reserved for all things porcine. Pink, round, with a curly tail and a snub nose, it likes to say ‘oink’ and romp around in mud. A single neuron-trip away in your mind is bacon, and then we’re off on rhapsodies about the smell of full English breakfasts.

This certainly was the case for me before I uprooted myself from the satanic mills of central London and landed in the rural south-west. Here I discovered that the pig is not always pink - the one at Monkton Wyld was covered in brown wool! (see above pic) - and have more uses than simply being a walking collection of pork chops. For instance Monkton Wyld, being a vegetarian community, give their food scraps to feed the pig instead of creating more landfill. Of course the pig itself is still destined for the table, just not the one at Monkton Wyld.  We at Pilsdon are most definitely not vegetarian so are prohibited by Health and Safety regs from giving to the pig any food scraps which have passed through our kitchen which I believe is to prevent the possibility, however small, of meat ending up inside the stomach of a pig. 

Regular readers will be familiar with the sad story of our previous sow Destiny having to be put down due to a developing tumour on her underside. She was an absolute behemoth whose eyes glinted with the knowledge of her mighty strength which could no doubt break through that iron grill that separated you from her, should she ever feel like it. I never lingered too long by her sty. It was only a month ago that the BBC reported the horrific case of the farmer in Oregon who went down to check on his pigs and never returned.

Over a few short months Destiny’s thirteen offspring ballooned from cute stripy piglets no bigger than your foot to hefty weaners that you would think twice about challenging to a game of British Bulldogs. We sold a couple of them to neighbours and as they were manhandled onto the scales and into the waiting truck their unearthly squeals echoed around the courtyard, all the more shocking since they had rarely uttered more than a grunt. And just yesterday their compatriots were all taken off to the abattoir leaving their pen silent and empty.

Our new sow, Isabelle, we have had for about a month and is a charming example of an Oxford Sandy and Black, a friendly type of pig. She’s smaller and leaner than Destiny. It’s difficult to know how she gets around since her ears flop over and cover her eyes. She was already pregnant when we bought her so we can soon expect to hear the pitter-patter of piglets racing around the pen again. Until that time we have found another use for her which is to place her on our vegetable plot where the potatoes had been and allow her to give it a good manuring, as well as snuffling out any spuds that had been accidentally left behind.

Last week we decided to extend her domain to cover the ex-onion patch as well which meant taking down the electric fence and re-laying it. I had visions of her just bolting for the carrots next door but thankfully she was sufficiently distracted by the bowl of soy nuts to allow us to re-create her boundaries in peace. In fact it proved almost impossible to tempt her over the grassy path to her new territory as she still associated the path with being zapped on the snout, even though the fence was no longer there. It wasn’t until some hours later when she had developed enough of an appetite that she could be coaxed with some nuts across to the other side.

Next time you wheel your trolley along the meat aisle of Morrison’s and lob a pack of unsmoked rashers in for tomorrow’s BLT, spare a moment to reflect on the intelligent, grunting and slightly intimidating animal which provided them. In fact why not get down to your local farm or small-holding and reacquaint yourself with one!