At play, at peace with the plan

Editor’s note: This is the second of a three-part series that chronicles the author’s effort to understand our relationship to the animals we eat.

I used to think there was a bright line between pets and livestock, but I don’t anymore.

Sure, there are animals that are clearly one or the other. If the American Kennel Club has a standard for it, it’s definitely a pet. Anything with “broiler” in its breed name? Livestock.

But when you’re spending time with an animal, it doesn’t really matter whether it’s got a “P” or an “L” on its dressing room door. It’s just you and it, face to face, and the label doesn’t have the power to tell you how to feel. I’ve known some charming chickens and some very annoying dogs.

Call it livestock all you want, but that won’t insulate you from the appeal of a pig.

Although I’m just finding this out now, it seems that it’s not news to a lot of other people. Rumor has it — and no one will come clean and either confirm or deny — that bets are being made on our pigs. Well, not on them, exactly. On us. As our local friends visit Spot, Doc and Tiny (and they do), and our remote and virtual friends read about them, see pictures of them and watch them on the stycam, it’s clear to all that the pigs are more “P” than “L.” And nobody kills and eats their pets.

There is a contingent that believes — and another that hopes — we’re not going to be able to do it.

I can see why. Although, going in, we knew we’d grow fond of the trio, we didn’t know just how likable pigs are. They’re cute, they’re active, they’re always excited to see you. They run around together, and sleep in a pile, and don’t ever get seriously upset with each other or with us. They’re never in a bad mood. And they play games for the sheer pleasure of it.

My husband, Kevin, and I have become intimately familiar with games pigs play. The first, played early and often, is Roll the Pig Down the Hill.

I suspect this game is well known in the pig-raising world and is one of the reasons all the books tell you that the ideal pig pen is flat. But because we live on a slope, there was no way around it. There’s barely a level spot to be found in the pigs’ 2,000 square feet, and the steepest slope is near the gate and the feeder and the pig house, where the pigs spend most of their time.

They were very young and small when they discovered they could use this to their advantage. We watched one day as Spot sneaked up on Doc, who was snoozing in a patch of sunlight, and gave her a good, hard shove. Doc rolled almost all the way down the hill before she recovered her footing. It’s a slippery slope.

I know pigs can’t laugh. I know it. But you shoulda been there.

When they were small, Roll the Pig Down the Hill was their favorite game. Once they reached about 100 pounds, it was supplanted by Roll the Farmer Down the Hill. The pigs play this game at every opportunity, never having heard the adage about not rolling the hand that feeds you down the hill.

When the pigs started with this game, it was easy for the farmer (and I use the term loosely) to win. But as they grew and outweighed first me and then Kevin, the balance of power shifted. They have a low center of gravity and quadrupedal stability. What do we have? Well, free will and opposable thumbs. These advantages, while significant in the wider world, are of limited utility in Roll the Farmer Down the Hill.