31 January, 2009
I was updating the pig paperwork when I realised I didn’t have the ear tag numbers for the three weaner boars that we have for sale.
I slipped into my boiler suit and wellies, grabbed my gloves and went out to check the ear tags.
All went well as I quietly sneaked out to the back of their pen, climbed over the wire without making a sound and very, very carefully slid the pig board across the front of the entrance to their hut.
Five piglets cornered without any drama.
I reached in, caught the first one, propped him on his rear between my legs and read his number, without letting the others escape.
Then I made the mistake, I took my gloves off to write his number on a scrap of envelope and tucked them under my arm.
I should have left them on.
Instead, I kept them under my arm as I caught pig number two and read his tag, then caught piglet number three and read his tag.
As I finished with piglet number three, he wriggled and my gloves fell to the ground.
The other piglets, the two boars plus the two gilts that I hadn’t needed to check, pounced immediately.
One managed to get a glove to himself, while the two gilts had opposite sides of the other glove.
As I went to grab the gloves, the pig board fell away and all the piglets scarpered.
With my gloves.
The chase was on.
I lunged for the gilts, who were both still holding onto the glove, but one let go and ran between my legs, tripping me and stopping me catching the other one.
Then the boar with the other glove ran up, shook it madly at me and ran off.
I went after him, going round and round the pig hut in the lovely, oozing, sloppy mud.
On the second time round, I stopped at the back of the hut, quietly reversed directions and pounced as the piglet came around the corner.
I’d caught a boar all right, but not the one with the glove. He was standing in the middle of the pen, munching the glove and watching me with interest.
The two gilts and the third boar were munching the other glove and also watching me with interest.
I could have sworn I heard them squeak:
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
The chase resumed.
I’d go one way, they’d go another.
I’d grab a piglet with a glove, it would let go and another would race in, snatch the glove up, and race off.
While I was chasing the piglet with one glove, the others would have a good chew of the other.
Then they’d swap over.
I was getting muddier and muddier, the piglets were getting muddier and muddier, and the gloves were getting muddier and muddier.
Now, before anyone jumps in and feels sorry for the poor wee piglets being chased by a big stroppy man, the piglets were by no means stressed or upset by the situation.
This is a very common piglet game, called “can’t catch me”.
They race round and round their pen, squeaking and barking with delight, and taking it in turns to be fox to the other piglets’ hounds.
But this was even better.
They had a silly, lumbering Two-Legs to chase them and a couple of lovely, interesting, chewy toys to nibble on.
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
This way.
That way.
Round there.
Through the mud hole.
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
This way.
Under.
Over.
Through the slime pit.
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
That way.
This.
In the hut.
Out of the hut.
Slide through the gunge.
Gotcha!
Yes, I’d managed to recover one manky, chewed, muddy, holey, mucky, mingin’ glove.
Now for the other.
Here.
There.
Round.
Between the legs.
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
This way.
That.
In.
Out.
Long slide through the stinking scum pit.
“You can’t catch us, nyah nyah nyah!”
Back the other way.
In.
Out.
And gotcha!
Make that two manky, chewed, muddy, holey, mucky, mingin’ gloves, one thoroughly exhausted Two-legs, and five exhausted piglets.
They went back to their hut, laid down in a row to face out the entrance, and sighed contentedly.
I glared at them.
They smirked.
People may doubt that pigs smirk, but I can confidently say all five did indeed smirk.
I trudged back down to the buildings and over to wheelie bin, opened it and threw the gloves in.
I hosed myself down, stripped off my wellies and boiler suit and was about to go inside when I realised I’d dropped my piece of paper and forgotten two of the three ear tag numbers.
I put the boiler suit and wellies back on, and headed back to the field…
Oh dear…
I am sorry, I am trying very hard not to,
but I am laughing my socks off here…LOL
2-0 to the piglets , I’d say!
Oh dear, such is life Stoney.
My life? Well I am still enjoying a good laugh at your expense mate; the picture in my mind is fabulous.
did they switch ear tags while you were away that short bit?
Be honest: how many pork recipes did you mentally consider during the chase?
They must find you sooooo entertaining…
Who needs a gym when you’ve got Pigs? Thanks for the laugh, I’m sure you gave many more people a laugh than left comments
Kim
Hereford uk
What fun.
Out of curiosity, any reason why you didn’t just leave them the gloves to play with (once they’d been chewed enough you weren’t likely to wear them again)? Would there be a danger of choking on them?
My imagination has added a cheesy chase music a la benny hill, makes it EVEN funnier.
oh gosh, that is funny, very visually described! The perils of pigs!
Hysterical! Been there-ish done that-ish
LOL
If it’s any consolation Stoney,
the goats do exactly the same with me on pretty much a daily basis. Little *ahem* darlings – don’t you just love ‘em….?!
So… Piggies on the other side of the pond are no less naughty than the ones here.
Gotta love them little piggies! Of all the animals I have raised the pigs have got to have the best personalities!
Regards,
Albert A Rasch