Tuesday, 11 September 2012

Up a bit, left a bit. . . right there!

The masseur pressed his thumbs into the small of the back, working out the knots in the muscles and bringing a grateful sigh of appreciation from the. . . err. . . patient? customer? client? massee? (Fill in your own word)

In the warm, early autumn, Westray sunshine, the aforementioned receiver of the massage stretched his back legs out and grunted happily.

Alfie, our pedigree boar, has spent too much time on his own this summer. Having decided not to keep young pigs on the "farm" over winter, I've made sure Alf has been kept well away from Molly, Little Kim and Ruby. The boy has had a couple of "visits" to attend to the needs of other sows on the island, but apart from that he's been left to his own devices.

It's a bit lonely for the lad, but there are compensations. He has about half an acre to call his own, half-a-bucket of feed twice a day and the weekly visit from Malc and his magic fingers.

Now, I know there will be those of you tittering away and preparing a series of entendre-packed comments, but its far more a half-time, physio, where-does-it-hurt, see how that is for the next 45 minutes my son, kind of thing, rather than one man and his pig wandering off hand-in-trotter into the setting sun.

Mind you, I can't imagine Fergie gives Wayne Rooney a scratch behind his ear before sending him out for a second half against Stoke. Vidic possibly, but Rooney definitely not.

I digress.

Alf has a wee hut that I screwed together from old timber, plywood and pallets. It looks awful and it bulges here and there, but even in the recent heavy rain it has remained dry inside. Alf has pimped his hut too. The original arrangement was a couple of heavy duty pallets with plenty of straw on top, but Alf has dragged in as much turf and vegetation as he can get hold of and the result is he has a lair with his bed a good two feet off the ground, a nice curved pedigree British Saddleback boar shape. Every pig knows the value of a good night's kip.

 
With autumn now well upon us and winter probably only days away (my experience is that autumn and spring can last as little as 25 minutes in Orkney) Alf will be moving back in with everyone else pretty soon, once the porkers have gone to fulfil their destiny, and he'll be allowed to get reacquainted with Little Kim and Ruby.

But it's not enough work for the lad and, if I'm honest with myself, a waste of a very good animal. So Alfie is up for sale. I feel a bit the way I might if I was selling one of the dogs. Actually, it's worse. Alfie doesn't wake me up at 3.20, 3.45 and 4.10 in the morning, barking at "something outside".

Seriously though - if you or anyone you know has use for a terrific boar and thoroughly nice guy, give me a shout. I won't be too sorry if I don't hear anything.

2 comments:

Pearl said...

Alfie sounds like a lovely pig, and I could use some company...

Sigh.

Pearl

Zig said...

You'll be surrounded by just wimmin if you sell him, think of all those female hormones and no male to bond with!