Pig diaries

The inevitable

Despite being early August it was a damp drizzly morning. That kind of fine rain, as Peter Kay likes to call it. The weather felt apt for the sombre morning task ahead and I thought to myself, if I was directing a movie this is the exact kind of weather I would choose for today.

I felt bleary eyed and tired as I drove up to the field. I’d woken numerous times in the night thinking about the morning ahead.

The time had come to send off two of the pigs. Send off is the term pig people seem to use for death, which seems kinder than the phrase to kill. But ultimately it’s the same result.

On arrival the first job was to separate the boys from the girls. Unfortunately for the boys this wasn’t going to be a good day for them. Having reached 6 months of age the inevitable growing up, let’s call it, was starting to happen and as with many animals the fact that they were mainly housed with their sisters didn’t seem to bother them. So sadly, Pig Co-op captain Tom had decided it was their time to go before piglets were on the horizon.

Coincidentally I’d watched an episode of Clarkson’s farm over the weekend (despite my dislike of misogynistic Clarkson I can’t help but be intrigued by his new muddier pursuit), where they were herding a large boar into a trailer. The animal had given them quite the run for their money so I had prepped myself to emanate the two well-seasoned farmers as best I could, despite our pigs being half the size.

Boots tightly fastened I was ready for a bit of a fight as I’d seen on the show, with the boar almost taking about both farmers at full charge, but it wasn’t needed. Tom’s patience and gentle handling of our pigs surprised me. With a bucket of food, some tuneful coo-ing and a little corralling with metal gates we managed to get the two brothers calmly cornered off into their pig house.

With each move closer to the trailer we quietly gated them in, gave them a little feed, plied them with a handful of Pillas oats, and let them settle for a little while before slowly moving them on again. With some extra guidance as they tackled the slippy metal ramp they made their way into the trailer, looking a little baffled but in no way scarred by the affair.

At this point I reassured myself that for all the pigs know they could be on their way to a new field, as the only time they’d been in a trailer before was to move from one home to another.

I reminded myself of this a few more times as I followed along behind Tom who was towing the trailer and heading towards the abattoir.

The pigs don’t know they’re going to die today, I kept thinking, and trying to reassure myself that this was all ok and all part of what I signed up for.

The abattoir was just a short 10 minute drive away from the field, chosen specifically for this reason to reduce the travel time and potential stress of the animals in transit. When we pulled in I realised that this was my first time at a slaughter house. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t really this. It was completely quiet and no animals could be heard or seen.

There were cars parked up outside a large agricultural building and a row of white refrigerator vans lined up with marketing on their flanks. I read the slogan down the side of one of the vans, “Supplying Cornish meat from Cornish farms”. I felt a pang of emotion for our pigs and wondered how long it would be until they were inside one of these vans.

We backed the trailer up to the metal pens, where still no sound could be heard from the pigs inside the trailer or the ones already in the holding pens. With more encouragement needed than on the way in our pigs slid reluctantly down the ramp of the trailer where they were funnelled by a large man and a wooden board into their holding pen.

To their left and right were other pigs waiting, some sitting and some lying down. They could see one another through the open metal railings that divided them. The other pigs were notably pink in colour, not like our black and striped saddlebacks which I’ve become accustomed to.

Saddlebacks have huge floppy ears which cover their eyes most of the time. But the eyes of the pink pigs, with smaller upright ears were much more visible. I looked into them and tried to gauge their emotions. Their eyes looked wide and I could see the white around the outsides which disturbed me somewhat. I thought about the expression known as whale eyes in dog behaviour that we’re told is a sign of worry. But then I realised I don’t know how they usually look and tried to reassure myself with this naivety.

I looked back at our pigs, they were sniffing the ground quietly. I noticed their curly tails and remembered a line in a book I’d read about pigs that said, “pigs tails are straight when they stressed and curly when they’re happy”. I clung onto the hope that it was true. The pigs still don’t know they’re going to die today I thought again.

I said goodbye to them and gave them a final scratch. I tried not to let myself feel too emotional that we wouldn’t be seeing them again, or at least not to show it in front of the man who clearly did this day in day out.

On the way home I thought hard about what it means to rear animals for consumption. Having seen further into the process than ever before, I told myself - I definitely won’t eat any meat that I don’t know exactly how it’s lived or how it’s died. And I tried to consider if that was truly possible. Because the truth is even though I’d got this far I still don’t know what happens on the other side of the holding pens when we’re gone.

I thought again about becoming vegetarian and whether or not that was truly the better thing to do. I thought about it all the way home.

When I arrived back to the house I was greeted by two wagging tails and I realised I’d forgotten to feed the dogs before leaving in my blurry sleepiness. I opened the fridge and reached for their food, a packet of raw meat all wrapped up in eco packaging designed with words and images to make us feel like we’ve made the best purchasing decision. I scooped the meat into their bowls and wondered to myself, should the dogs go vegan too?

As I’m sat writing this it’s about 3 hours after we dropped the pigs off. And I don’t know if they’re still alive.

I’m reminding myself why I joined the Pig Co-op – to confront uncomfortable thoughts and feelings that are so much easier to ignore when we walk the aisles of a supermarket or pet shop and look only at meat hidden inside fancy packaging, disguised in breadcrumbs or pastry or sculpted into heart-shaped dog biscuits.

I know some people reading this will be wondering why if I have such strong feelings about climate justice or animal welfare would I continue to eat meat. And I supposed in someway I’m trying to justify it by referring to the dog and the reality that you can’t really own a dog without purchasing or consuming animal products.

Maybe I am trying to use that to allow myself to continue to eat meat occasionally too because honestly the pork from our pigs is without a doubt the tastiest I’ve ever eaten and I do struggle with the idea of giving that up.

Do I feel guilty for saying that? In some ways yes. Do I feel that it’s far better to raise meat kindly, ethically, visibly and regeneratively? Yes. Does it mean that I should still eat meat? To be decided.

If you want to follow along with Tom’s fascinating updates on agroforestry you can do so by following Four Legs Good on Instagram. Or if you want to buy any pork you can do so directly through Four Legs Good or the Falmouth Food Coop, when it’s available.

Thanks for reading!

With care

Ellie