The Piglet

Having gone through weeks of hell with Honky I was ready for life to return to normal. To nip out at 6.45am to feed all and be back in bed with a cup of tea at 7.15 to listen to the news before the day starts.

But it wasn’t to be. One morning I noticed little Blackbum didn’t want to get up and had no interest in breakfast. This was highly unusual because normally after a week or so new weaners get into the swing of life here and are out bawling with all the rest as soon as they hear the dogs bark. But these, despite being here over three weeks still hadn’t got into the daily rhythm. They also ate very little.

I had discovered that what little I had left them was being polished off by the goats. The goats barely eat their own food so to see them eating the piglets’ food soaked in milk was infuriating.

I watched Blackbum for a couple of days and saw him drinking a lot. I had a gut feeling all wasn’t well but then I’d go back to check on him and he’d be out rooting. Sick pigs don’t root. Or do they?

Last Saturday I was going away for the day so decided to load him up and take him into the vets first. The more dealing I have with vets (about pigs), the more I’ve realised they know nothing about them. Initially, when I felt he wasn’t right I rang to get the dosage for a wormer I had here. They are both really small and the wormer only had quantities for larger animals on it. The vet said you can’t give that if they haven’t had their iron injections. Bloody hell, free range pigs don’t get iron injections. They’re out with their noses in the soil hours after birth; getting iron the way nature intended. Not like the poor bastards raised in concrete sheds on rubber matting (if they’re lucky).

Anyway I loaded him into the dog crate and she examined him. Said he had pneumonia. My good pal Martha in Wales (who farms free range pigs) said he needed Penstrep. I suggested this to the vet but she said no, Baytril. Vets hate when you make suggestions. She gave him an anti inflammatory and said that would stop him drinking so much. It didn’t. The antibiotic had no effect. I got onto Martha again. She said if Penstrep doesn’t work try Draxxin. I rang the vet. No, she had no Draxxin and it would take days to get it but I was to bring him in, again!

She examined him again. He still had a temperature and he’d lost more weight (which he could ill-afford to). She gave him what she said was a drug in the same family as Draxxin. She also gave me steroids.

When all the scientists were arguing about what cured Covid and what didn’t, some expert concluded that steroids worked. I then saw a tweet from a vet saying that finally the medical profession was catching up with the veterinary one. When all else is failing, prescribe steroids. This flashed through my mind.

I went home with him with literally zero faith he was going to recover but like with Honky, he wasn’t going to die of starvation on my watch. I got milk, kefir, honey, garlic, egg and cream and I made up a daily concoction and syringed it into him several times a day. He fought me with vigour. At times he looked like he liked it but mostly he acted like I was trying to kill him. God knows what the neighbours thought I was doing to him.

My neighbour asked me one morning how he was and my reply was “well he’s still here.” He asked me did I want him to inject him with Penstrep. I said no initially because the last injection he’d been given was a long-acting antibiotic and I didn’t want to overdose him. But then thought what is there to lose, so said yes.

The next day he called in and injected 0.5ml. The vet had only injected 0.2ml. He was only just over 7kg but it seemed a tiny dose. The following morning he shot out from under the straw and ate breakfast. The first time he’d eaten anything in days. He had also stopped drinking gallons.

Since then he’s made steady progress and although he’s coughing like a wheezy old codger on 60 Woodbines a day, he’s out and about rooting and more importantly eating rings around himself. My neighbour who thinks vets are a complete waste of money and also thinks I’m crazy every time I call one out is now nodding sagely saying “I told you so”…..

And what’s worse, I’m beginning to agree with him.

There’s been a dearth of applications from Woofers/HelpX/Workaways and any I’ve had, I felt wouldn’t be a good fit here. But out of the blue I got one from a Uruguayan vet (the irony) who’s been in Limerick for a few months and wants to improve her English but also get experience working on a smallholding. When she asked would it be okay to do an on-line English course for a few hours a day but she’d work mornings, evening and weekends, I said yes straight away. Usually I get asked how many hours they have to work and you know that they’re more interested in the hours they have off.

Now maybe I can get back to normal without worrying about sick animals. I hate when any animal is unwell. It also means that it takes up masses more of my time. Time that I can ill-afford. I’m already so behind on stuff in the garden and polytunnel and there has been literally no maintenance done this summer. I realised during the lockdown that it would be virtually impossible to keep this place running on my own. I need helpers. I also miss having them about the place. And worst of all I’ve a tonne of food in the freezers that needs cooking and eating.