Friday was a hard day on the farm. The darkness began during our morning meeting, when Jared, the farm manager, shared the bad news that we only had 5 piglets left. Three piglets had died the night before, apparently from asphyxiation when their mother rolled on top of them. Another piglet had already died the previous night from being smashed by Millie. I was filled with disappointment and frustration. I had been so excited when Millie gave birth to her piglets--it was truly a joyous day on the farm. How had such joy turned so quickly into tragedy?
Millie's parenting instincts seem to be nonexistent. She does not respond to the cries of her piglets. She prefers to lay on her belly, denying her piglets access to her teats (and milk). She shifts positions frequently without regard for the safety of her piglets, often rolling over right onto her babies. She nests right up against the wall of the pen, leaving her piglets exposed to the wind. Such behavior is completely inconsistent with her breed, American Guinea Hogs, who are regarded for their excellent mothering ability. Apparently, Millie forgot to read the breed description, and certainly neglected to read "What to Expect When You're Expecting Piglets."
Late Friday morning, I went to check on Millie and the piglets and found one piglet laying apart from Millie and the rest of the piglets, which is never a good sign. In general, the piglets stay huddled together for warmth. I looked closer at this isolated piglet and knew she was sick. There was foam and blood around her mouth. A quick physical examination showed no apparent injury--her limbs all felt solid. Jared told me these were the same signs exhibited by the piglets Millie had rolled over the night before. I wanted so desperately to help this piglet, but there was little we could do. I held her close and encouraged her to fight, stroking her soft fur. We put her under a heat lamp indoors to warm her up, but her breathing grew shallower and shallower until she wasn't breathing at all.
Tears streaming down my face, I buried little Farina in the orchard, beneath a fruit tree. I set her softly in her grave, wished her peace, and gently covered her little body with dirt. Once she was buried, I walked across the farm to where I had placed my spirit stick a month before and moved the stick to mark Farina's grave.
Still grieving over the loss of Farina, I quickly had to shift gears and work to save her siblings. It was clear that Millie had no situational awareness, and would likely continue to suffocate her pigs, albeit inadvertently. It was time to intervene. We removed the four remaining piglets from Millie, placing them in a crate under a heat lamp indoors.
We prepared a sow's milk substitute from our cow Phoebe's milk and bottle fed the piglets with human baby bottles. It took them a while to catch on, but they eventually figured out that this was their new food. The first feeding was quite a mess--little black piglets covered in drops of milk--but it worked. The piglets will now get bottle feedings every 3-5 hours, around the clock.
I left the farm that day emotionally drained, mourning for the senseless loss of so many piglets. However, as I pulled out of the parking lot, I was greeted by a full rainbow, shining bright against the figurative darkness of the day, and felt uplifted. We would not forget the pigs we had lost, but we would fight to save those who remained. Rest in peace, Farina. Rest in peace.
Sad...this momma is crying. Sorry Aimee.
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