Herding pigs

One of my first jobs, as a kid, was to shepherd pigs. Yes, my dad was keeping a dozen of pigs during the year.

He bought piglets in the spring and we moved them up to the pasture, way above our winter home from early June till September 30. During summer, they would grow and be fattened, mostly with buttermilk – the byproduct of my dad’s cheese and butter production, as well as other household scraps.

They were all tightly contained into a, very smelly small den and I had been asked, on a few occasion, to take them out into the surrounding nature in order to give them a break from their dreary prison. I would also clean their tiny space from waste and other unpleasant and stinky items.

Would it be overkill to say that I didn’t enjoy that chore at all. On the rare occasions when I took the pigs out, I would take them too far away, in the sun and in spots like “La cache do rousi” under the hot summer sun, and when my small group of pig returned, they had baked under the sun, looked all red and exhausted.

I didn’t care much, except that I didn’t want to be scolded by my father, but it was a subtle pay-back for having to do something I really abhorred. Things since then have change for the better and I’m so grateful!