The job continues

When the Other Half and I went out to feed and water the livestock this morning, we quickly found that Doris’s litter of Berkshire piglets had settled into their new home.

But their house move still left one major chore to do and with the Other Half off into the village after breakfast, I’d be doing it on my own for quite a while.

The big pig hut–a hefty 8ft x 10ft with insulation–had to be broken free of the mud, turned through 90 degrees, hauled across the muddy field and deposited on the clean ground uphill of the bonfire pile.

And not only was I on my own without the Land Rover, but I’d be working with three pigs in the field with me. Ah, the joy.

The first step was to break the hut free of the mud into which it had sunk under its own weight.

Normally, I’d bend my knees, put my right shoulder under the lifting bar and then lift by straightening my legs. But that’s not a good idea with a healing collar bone.

Instead, I settled for the more laborious but technically interesting application of levers and fulcrums.

In other words, I laid a piece of fence post on the ground, stuck another one under the hut, and then hoiked the hut up and away.

With the easy bit out of the way, Delilah came out of the hut to join me. It’s a pity I can’t train her to move her hut for me.

Next, I had to move the hut through 90 degrees. This involves getting inside the hut at the centre point, bending my knees, settling my shoulders and upper back into the roof, straightening my legs and then walking in a semi-circle.

It wasn’t too difficult, considering that I was calf-deep in muddy straw and had to lift the sides of the hut over two sleeping pigs that weren’t going to move for anything.

As I stepped out my semi-circle, the sides of the hut swung over the two pigs.

Each opened an eye and twitched their ears as the timbers swayed an inch or so above them, but they still didn’t move.

As I staggered to a halt, with the hut correctly aligned for the next stage, both pigs closed their eyes and went back to sleep as the hut settled back onto the ground.

There was no way I was going to be able to push, pull or carry the hut over the par-frozen quagmire in the field.

The ground had been frozen, thawed, rained on and frozen again, making it slippery when I needed good grip and sticky when I needed things to slide.

On top of that, it was thick with clods of earth, mounds of rotting vegetation, flattened piles of trampled pig manure, and thawing pools of pig urine. There were even a couple of large stones to negotiate.

My trick was to use the fence posts again.

On hard ground, I’d use a dozen round posts and roll the hut, but this won’t work in mud.

Instead, I greased two posts with stinking mud and ooze, then popped one under the front of each skid.

Then I went inside the hut–yes, with company–and took the weight of it on my shoulders at the front.

As I pushed on the front wall, the hut slid over the greased posts, which dramatically reduced the friction that I would otherwise have had to overcome if I’d tried hauling the hut directly through the mud.

I’d slither and stagger a couple of steps, then stop and reposition myself. Another slither and stagger, another stop. And on. And on.

Every so often I had to stop and move to the back of the hut, which has a cross beam that dragged up a mound of earth and vegetation as I progressed across the field.

I also had to put the hut back on the posts three times.

But most of the time, it was lift, push, stagger, slither. Lift, push, stagger, slither. Lift, push, stagger, slither.

Oh, and the pigs–all three by now–thought it was all a grand game and did their best to “help” me. Or not, as the case may be.

When I arrived at my destination, I had to move back to the centre of the hut and do my lift and circular shuffle again.

It was much easier this time as it was on firm ground and I didn’t have pigs for company.

Then I had to move the hut uphill, so I went to the back of the hut and did my lift, push, stagger and slither routine again.

By this time, I was knackered, sore… and grumpy.

Which was good, because I needed the extra impetus to get the ******* hut about 20 feet uphill.

When I finally had the hut in the right postion and staggered out, the pigs promptly rushed in out of the very cold wind that was blowing–did I mention that–and settled themselves in.

All I had left to do was move the electric fence, which involved some too-ing and fro-ing through the churned field, dig a hole for the water trough to go in and bring out some fresh straw for bedding.

Fortunately, the Other Half returned home at that point and sent the Wee ‘Un out to entice me in for a breather.

After a snack and a drink, the Other Half came out to help so she broke up a bale of straw for bedding, with the help of the pigs, while I dug out a hole for the trough.

People are often surprised that we use temporary troughs with few spills, but there are two tricks involved.

The first is to use a deep container with a lip on the bottom. The container is sunk at least six inches in to the ground and soil tamped in over the lip.

Spilled water keeps the tamped soil wet, with the combination of soil weight on the rim and suction keeping the trough in place for all but the most determined pig.

The second trick is to add to that weight by using a container that contains at least 12 gallons of water and to never let it empty.

We’ve only had the temporary troughs moved out of place once, and that was only a two-inch lift on one side.

And there they are. All snuggled in while they wait for dinner to be prepared and served.

It was another hard day for me, less so for the Other Half, but it means most of the pigs are their proper places for the next few months.

The only remaining move will be when Dolores leaves her litter to join Doris and the growers in the big field, while Doris’ weaners will move from their temporary hut into insulated hut with Dolores’ litter in about three days.

Then they’ll be ready for sale and collection.

As for me, I’m just about ready for a nightcap and bed.