Reaching double figures

The thing about piglets is you never know how many you’re going to get. That’s much more exciting than human babies, according to Guy.

And what a litter arrived on Saturday!

The bets were on that Mary would produce double figures. Last time she had nine.

Wessex Saddlebacks used to be known for their big litters, but as numbers declined – along with their genetics, the litter sizes got smaller and smaller.

When the breed was at its most critical you’d be lucky to get four or five. But now, as the breed is nurtured, production is improving.

Mary had 13 piglets this time. We thought she’d finished after 12. I’d already put the afterbirth in the vegetable garden, but in a couple of hours time number 13 popped out.

Piglets literally come out running. Their eyes are wide open, and once they’ve got their umbilical cords untangled, and their birthing goo out of their mouths, they’re headed straight for a teat.

We’ve got two more sows expected to give birth in the next couple of days, what’s your bet?

Is there anyone in there?

While we’re talking babies, Victorian Wessex Saddleback breeder Fiona Chambers from Fernleigh Farms brought her pregnancy testing kit when she visited us earlier in the week.

You can actually hear the blood pumping through the uterus and the galloping hearts of the piglets.

A pig’s gestation is three months, three weeks, and three days. Wasn’t that well planned by nature?

Remember the duck eggs in the incubator that had all the power troubles?

Well, despite the cold eggs, exploding thermometer, and trip to band practice, we’ve had 28 ducklings hatch out.

A few of them needed a bit of help out of their shells, but they’re all fluffed up and growing madly now.

We can’t tell what colours they’ll be yet, so we’re going to keep them for a couple of months until their grown-up feathers grow, and pick out which ones we’re going to keep.

There’s good demand for coloured Indian Runners by backyard poultry keepers, and we’ve already got orders.

Apparently Indian Runners are good eating ducks too, but we won’t go there – yet.

To end a week full of piglets and ducklings, we had a herd of humans visit the farm. A group of local farmers, who mostly keep cattle and are interested in alternative farming, came to see what we’re doing.

There are so many closet pig fanciers around. I’m always amazed that when you mention you’ve got pigs to anyone, they’ll straight away say, “Oh I love pigs…we used to have one called…and she got turned in to…”.

The ham was a real hit with the farmers, with many saying they hadn’t tasted anything like it for a long time.

And that’s why we’re bringing the breed back.

Who's my mummy?

I imagine these Indian Runner ducklings will have turbulent teenage years.

It won’t be easy coming to terms with being a duck whose mum was a chook. But I hope they’ll be tough, and survive the taunts.

We put the duck eggs under a broody Rhode Island Red, and she sat very patiently for 28 days, until the babies pushed their way out of the thick, white shells.

To reduce the psychological strain on the ducklings we took them away from the chook, and now they’re in a cosy pen with a light and lots of crumble and water.

Like the pigs, the ducklings had an exciting windy weekend. Their light went out with the electricity, but they did a good job of keeping each other warm for a few hours.

Inside the house, where we’ve got an electric incubator set with 40 eggs, the power cut caused a little more stress.

The temperature dropped incredibly quickly, a duck-expert relative was called, and then a doona was wrapped around the incubator. We warmed some water on the metho burner and filled a hotwater bottle and tucked that in too.

But the temperature continued to fall…

The chamber got moved to the lounge room in front of the fire, and slowly the thermometer started moving upwards.

But then it got too hot and exploded, spreading purple alcohol over the eggs!

I had band practice in town in the afternoon, so along with the tenor horn on the back seat we sat the incubator.

After a couple of hours being plugged-in at the band rooms, with the eggs turning to the music of Edward Gregson’s The Plantagenets, the power came back on at home.

We shone a torch into the eggs last night, and actually saw a duckling move inside its shell, so hopefully they’ll be alright.

What a weekend!

If there was a chance pigs might fly, it would have happened last Sunday.

The most spectacular southerly winds came through the farm, ripping out trees and shifting a pig shed from one paddock into the next (breaking four fence wires in the process).

The pigs weren’t worried at all, and continued rooting around, and even climbed into the broken shed as it balanced, twisted, on its end.

The bush in the south-west corner of the farm looks like a patch of carrots that have been thinned, with the rejects left between the rows.

Old eucalypts have been completely uprooted and there are tens of trees being cradled by their neighbours, holding on till they're let go.

The winds continued for a good 12 hours, and when they had finished the farm and the bush was completely still, and the sun set an eerie warm yellow.