Their day of reckoning is nigh. They have plowed our pastures, and we have brought them hundreds if not thousands of pounds of apples, heirloom tomatoes, peaches and other fresh produce from the farm. They have made us laugh with their sibling rivalries and their odd personalities. And we have spent every day of their lives talking to them, scratching them behind their ears and looking them in the eyes trying to figure out what exactly they thought of this place. We cared for them. It was more than just keeping them.
In every book we read, they always warned of the inevitable day of escape, an escapade of chase and frustration. That day never came for us. They never made a break for it, and it wasn’t because our electric fence was infallible; in fact it was probably shorted out and non-functioning a quarter of the time. Every time we would move the fence to a new pasture, we would simply lay it down and let them wander as they pleased. They would ramble for a few minutes, but a simple shake of the food bowl would bring them right back.
We moved their fences often and always kept them in green pastures. We called them by their names. I dare say we rather enjoyed their company. They’ve made us smile, made us laugh and will surely make us cry come day of slaughter. The morality of raising our own meat is a story for another day, but knowing our food had the absolute best life possible feels right to us. We don’t take this decision lightly, but are very grateful for the life of these pigs, in all of their forms.