Rest In Peace

They say every livestock farmer eventually has a loss or losses. I've been very lucky so far, having never lost anything bigger than a chicken. Even losing Frances the hen was pretty hard on our family.
But the school of hard knocks has been in session around here lately, replete with what must be a nun bearing a yardstick. Let me explain.
About a month ago, I noticed one of my beloved Berk piggies started limping. They were outside in the piggie palace, and they liked to sleep in a big pile so I figured maybe she got stepped on by another pig, or twisted something during one of their frequent racing matches. The next day, another one was limping a bit, too. Well, that was strange. The next day, a third was limping. This sent me to the internet, the phone, and email, wondering what on earth was going on.
Long story short, I got lots of different opinions, lots of differing thoughts on what to do. The vet said here, try this. I gave the three pigs a dose of medicine, but it didn't seem to make much difference. Things seemed to level off, and though a few of them continued to have a bit of a gimp, they otherwise seemed totally normal. Then about a week ago, my favorite pig Tiny just went down. Her hind legs stopped working. We brought her bowls of milk mixed with probiotics, mineral and vitamin supplements, and aspirin for any pain and inflammation. She drank it down readily. We kept this up for days, and she seemed otherwise totally normal, with a very good appetite, normal pee and poop, and she had no temperature. Another call to the vet. We tried a couple different antibiotics on her which made no change.

She was in a group of pigs that are just days away from their date with the butcher. I knew if she was down like this, they wouldn't accept her at the butcher (nor would I even think of trying to force an animal in this kind of condition off of a trailer and into a slaughter facility). I knew if she didn't have some kind of miraculous recovery, I would have to put her down myself. I dreaded it. I've shot animals for humane reasons before, even a big boar once. But this was my little Tiny One, she was special to me. As the littlest in the group of Berk weaners we got last Spring, Tiny stood apart from the rest. She had a very broad white splash on her face, and her ears were especially large, giving her a cute, clownish appearance. Her personality was totally endearing. Being the smallest, she knew she couldn't win any push and shove battles, so she would occupy herself doing other things while her mates were squabbling over anything (food, water, the best spot, you name it, pigs are very competitive). When the rush was over, she would quietly yet confidently walk up and get her share. But perhaps the best thing about Tiny was how she knew me and recognized me at a distance. Every day as I approached their pen or paddock, Tiny was always the first to see me coming off in the distance, and she would literally come flying toward me, giant ears flapping, smile on her face. I would call out to her, and once inside with them, Tiny would insist on a good rub. She would press her side against my legs and grunt happily. She loved a good scratching and rub behind the ears, but rubbing her belly literally made her go weak in the knees. As I rubbed her tummy, she would collapse onto her side, usually on top of my feet, grunting her approval, encouraging me to rub more and more. I could hear her saying "Oh, yeah, that's it right there...." She would have liked it if I never stopped. This, I'm sure is the reason for her very gleeful greetings.

Tiny also had a way of spinning and tossing her head under a water shower that made me sing Tina Turners' song Tiny Dancer to her when I was hosing the pigs down. She won a space in all our hearts. Karen often asked if we could keep her as a pet.
So the thought of having to shoot my little Tiny Dancer made me sick, and I kept putting the thought out of my mind. I did know, though, that I would have to do it at some point.

The bigger problem of course, was that I have been vexed by what this strange lameness thing really was. Was it a bug, a feed deficiency, something on our farm? Most importantly, what can I do to prevent this from ever happening to another pig (if indeed, it's possible). So I had decided that I would have a necropsy (animal autopsy) done on Tiny in order to get some answers.

Yesterday, after doing chores with the new smaller pigs, I went to the Berk's pens with a bowl of treats from the garden. I saw Tiny lying up against the fence. When I called to her, she didn't move. I knew she was gone. Dear, sweet Tiny had spared me having to kill her. So it's been a mixture of sadness at her loss, and gratitude that I didn't have to do the deed.

Tonight the vet came out, looked over the pigs, and did the necropsy on Tiny. Though we won't have the results of the samples for while, the vet is pretty certain this was something called mycoplasma arthritis. Having read up on this as one of the possibilities, and talking with the vet about it, I was reassured a bit, and of course a bit concerned, too. Good news is this not something that affects meat quality at all, it doesn't exist in the environment so it won't necessarily be a problem for us forever. He said pigs get it from direct contact with pigs that already carry it. I won't necessarily ever see it again. If a sow has had it and recovered, she can pass immunity on to her offspring, though there is no vaccine for it at this point. Symptomatic pigs can be treated with antibiotics that target the joints. We don't just give antibiotics lightly here, but neither will I withold medicine from an animal that needs it for health and humane reasons. Our ultimate goal is to avoid the need for them in the first place.

The other good news is that everything else on Tiny looked very good. Her liver was perfect with no blemishes, and no signs of any parasites.
So tonight as I head to bed, I am very sad to have lost a sweet pig, but I'm also very grateful that at the same time she helped me figure this dilemma out.

Thank you, Tiny. I will always remember you.