We made the four-hour round-trip journey yesterday to the beloved farm of our good friends, Bernie and Amie Amlaw, in West Swanzey, New Hampshire. There, we selected four of their litter of seven-week old piglets, two for us and two for a neighbor.
We had visited this particular group of pigs just two weeks ago when they were decidedly smaller and Dave had the dubious honor of learning to neuter them. It was a task Bernie saved for our visit. He knew that since we’ll be breeding sows this year, we’ll need to be able to castrate our own male pigs. Dave braved the lesson; the girls and I waited outside.
Oh, the squealing.
So, we felt a certain kinship to this little gang and were happy to be able to continue our relationship in a gentler, more loving manner.
We chose two boys. After last year’s pigs, we learned that the boys are sweeter and gentler and the girls tend to be… well… bitches. We’re still on the fence about naming them. I’m feeling like it won’t matter either way; we’re going to fall in love with them, names or no.