‘There be monsters!’

We moved Doris, one of our Berkshire sows, into a different field to wean her piglets yesterday.

All seemed well, she nosed around, scoffed a few stray potatoes she found and settled into her new hut with its bed of fresh straw.

But when I went to feed Doris this morning, she appeared a little out of sorts and kept making the squeal that means “I want”.

I thought she wanted her feed, but even when her breakfast was tipped into her feed trough Doris continued making the squeal and was reluctant to eat.

Normally, Doris does that when she’s had a treat the previous day and is expecting the same again. Or when she wants a treat just because she’s a special pig.

I smiled, left her to her breakfast and went on with the chores.

When I checked a little later, Doris had eaten her breakfast and was snoozing in her hut.

Sorted, I thought.

During the day, I was back and forth around her field numerous times.

She seemed to be okay, snoozing, snuffling up more stray potatoes, devouring the old lettuce plants I threw her, and enjoying the occasional scratch.

When the Wee ‘Un and I took her food out this evening, we moved the feed trough adjacent to the water trough as it makes it easier to fill both at the same time.

We tipped Doris’s dinner into the feed trough and added a bucket of water to the water trough.

Looking up, the Wee ‘Un and noticed she hadn’t come over.

We both called her.

She walked to within six feet of us, stopped, rolled her eyes and did the “I want” squeal.

“Come on, dinner time,” I said.

Doris rolled her eyes again, jerked her head at the troughs and then at the ground beside her.

“No,” I said, “no personal delivery, come and get your dinner.”

Doris huffed, puffed, sniffed and squealed again.

I went into the pen and had a look around. I crouched down to pig level and looked again.

I sniffed.

I stomped the ground.

I couldn’t detect anything unusual.

I looked through the trees and under a pile of old slates.

Nothing.

The whole time Doris watched me very carefully.

“Come on, come and get your dinner.”

She squealed again, rolled her eyes and then did a huge, side to side, body wobble—Piggish for “no bloody way!”

I picked up the feed trough and walked around with it, trying to work out what the problem was.

I discovered Doris wouldn’t come within eight feet of the corner of the field, no matter what was offered to her.

She’d walk in an arc from one fence to the other, but she wouldn’t cross an invisible line on the ground.

Eventually, I put the feed trough just over the invisible line and she ate happily.

But then she wanted a drink—and the water trough is on the other side of the invisible line.

“Aah!” I thought. “She was squealing earlier because she wanted a drink but wasn’t going into the corner.”

However, the water trough is concreted in and can’t be moved,

I had another look around, squatting next to her and trying to get a pig perspective.

There were no changes of pattern on the ground, no changes of texture, there was nothing flapping in the trees, there were no bright lights shining through, no strange shadows, no strange smells, nothing.

I looked at Doris.

She looked at me.

She gave a big, shuddery squeal and trotted back to her hut, shot inside, turned around, and carefully poked her head back out to look at me, then at the corner.

Doris gave another big body shake and trumpeted one last squeal before lying down inside.

A squeal that quite definitely said…

“There be monsters!”