Was I Wrong?

Simply awesome, that pig.

This is one of the hardest post I’ve ever written.

I’ve written about almost dying, giving up a dog I love dearly, and re-homing the world’s nicest but noisiest rooster.

This, currently, feels worse.  And it’s about a pig.  An animal that many people don’t think twice about eating for breakfast.  But Doink the pot-bellied pig is MY pig.  And nobody is eating him for breakfast.

I do my research before I make a move on just about anything.  I have books about pot-bellied pigs.  I’ve spent hours reading about pot-bellied pigs on the Internet.  You have no idea how much YouTube video I’ve watched about raising pigs.  Obsessed would be a generous description of my behavior.

I’ve learned there’s lots of people out there with lots of different opinions.  I took all of that into account when I made the decision to call the vet and ask him to trim Doink’s tusks and hooves.

I’ve watched as Doink’s tusks grew longer and longer.  I’ve watched his response when Brandy gives him a big ole head butt – which is about twenty times a day. Doink has NEVER been mean or aggressive.  He’s simply been a pig trying to communicate.  When Brandy says, “HEY LET’S PLAY!” with a head butt, Doink sometimes responds with a “teeth pop”, as if to say, “Good grief, I’m a pig, leave me alone, will ya?”

Never mean, never aggressive.  But with those tusks growing, and sometimes showing, I felt there was an accident waiting to happen.

They aren’t HUGE, but they’ve brushed my leg. No bueno.

There is exactly ONE vet in our area that works with pigs.  He’s been to the barnyard once before. He’s not my kind of guy.  But with no other options available to me, I felt it was my responsibility to go forward and get Doink’s tusks cut off (not pulled, that’s wrong) and get his hooves trimmed.  I thought/think this was/is the right thing to do.

Despite my long conversation with the nice vet receptionist about my vision of how the procedure should go (anesthesia necessary, don’t want the tusks or the hooves cut too close), despite me driving to the office to pick up some sedatives (for the pig, not me), despite my positive thoughts thrown out into the universe to make it all be easy…it all went so very, very wrong.

The details are gross and mostly unimportant.  Two points – the general anesthesia was not given, and the vet totally screwed up the hoof trim by cutting into the quick of two hooves. Suffice it to say it was seven loud, horrid minutes.

Now I have an animal in pain.  I promise, you do not want to see a pig limp.  You. Do. Not.

I believe it will pass.  I believe he will get better.

He’s always the first to share.

Yet right now, he does not want to come out of his sleeping area in the shed.  He’s still scared. He hurts.  And frankly, it breaks my heart.

And ya know, the vet is not a bad guy.  I think he works more with pigs that need to be kept healthy so they can be made into bacon.  That, again, is not my pig.  I look at Doink in the eye every day and see intelligence, compassion, a sense of humor and a happy spirit that enjoys being part of the barnyard family.  Call me crazy, but that’s what I see.

I sat in the shed with him late last night, rubbing his belly and talking softly.  I told him I was sorry.  I told him it would never happen again.  He snorted, sighed, and then closed his little piggy eyes and went to sleep.

Night night, Doink.  I’m really sorry.  Please forgive me.

Sometimes breakfast comes before he’s had time to freshen up.  That’s o.k., man.  Happens to all of us.

(Shared at Clever Chicks Blog Hop, Homestead Barn Hop, Backyard Farming Connection Hop, Down Home Blog Hop, HomeAcre Hop, From the Farm Blog Hop and The Country Homemaker Hop!)