Rehoboth Farm

The first time we ever took a pig to a processor, in January of 2000, it was nearly a disaster. I was completely unprepared for the strength and stubbornness of a 200 pound hog. I actually tied a horse lead around her neck and tried to drag her up a 4-foot ramp into an open trailer that only had 2 foot high sides. After about an hour of struggling and ear-deafening squealing I was seriously considering getting the gun. Finally with Kim pushing and me pulling I managed to drag the screaming block of granite up the ramp and into the trailer and we quickly locked her in. I tied off the horse lead to the front of the trailer, "just in case". We then headed to YorkÂ’s processing in Thomaston, about 30 miles away.

When we got on the road everything seemed fine until about five miles out, when we heard a car honking his horn behind us. In the rear view mirror I could see what he was honking about. Miss piggy had somehow gotten her hooves up on the top railing of the trailer, her huge ears were flapping in the wind. She was actually looking forward up the road like a dog in the back of a pickup truck. "Oh no", I thought, here weÂ’ve come all this way and the pig is going to jump out of the trailer. I had never seen either of our hogs climb up on anything before, no, she had saved this remarkable ability for the moment when I was most vulnerable; just like a pig. I had a vision of her leaping off the side, hitting the ground and being dragged by the lead at 50 miles per hour. The guy in the car behind us would be an animal rights advocate who would quickly have me arrested for animal cruelty. I would be in handcuffs in the County jail, where they would refer to me as "the guy with the pig".

I slowed down to a crawl and waited for Mr. PETA to pass our mini-van. He drove by, leaning over his console, looking at me and laughing his head off. I was humiliated, but relieved that I wasnÂ’t going to jail. I waited until he was out of sight and then swerved the van to one side; that brought her down off the rail. For the rest of the ride to Thomaston we went through this same ritual of her getting up on the rail, me swerving the trailer, and her hopping down again. I realized that as long as we kept moving, I could control her attempts to jump. Stop lights and stop signs, however, sparked her interest and she would quickly jump back to her perch where I was helpless to do anything about it. She would look down at the ground and hop on her hind legs, looking for a landing spot; where, I decided, she would become a permanent resident because there was no way I was getting her back on the trailer. No, we would just calmly drive away and take the long way home, explaining to the children that Daddy had changed his mind and decided to let the piggy go free.

About a mile from YorkÂ’s I was getting confident, that is until I noticed that the traffic up ahead had come to a stop. The Georgia State Patrol was conducting a random license and insurance check. "Oh no" I thought to myself again.

Waiting in line, I could feel sweat starting to bead on my forehead. The children were all facing backwards shouting "SheÂ’s up again!", "SheÂ’s down again!", "SheÂ’s up again!". This didnÂ’t help. After what seemed like a year, the patrolman finally got to us. I gave him my license and insurance card and figured this would take just a few seconds. Instead he said, "Just a minute" and started walking towards the back of the van. He walked, looking down, to the rear of the trailer and checked the license plate. When he turned around he stopped cold and his eyes were fixed on the pig which was now leisurely lounging on her side; the big blue leash tied around her neck like a favorite pet. He very slowly walked along the side of the trailer back towards me staring at the pig the whole time. When he got back he said "Where are you folks headed?" with a mixture of humor and disbelief. "To YorkÂ’s Processing" I said, with a mixture of panic and embarrassment. "Well you passed the turn about a half a mile back". "Turn around over there, go back, and it will be on your right". "Thanks" I said.

Since both lanes of traffic were stopped, the troopers started blowing their whistles and waving their arms to allow the mini-van-full-of-children pulling the hog-on-a-leash-trailer to do a 180 in the middle of the road. As we were finally pulling away in the right direction, all of the troopers were laughing and waving goodbye, we had obviously provided some comic relief to their day. Red-faced and nodding, trying to smile, we hurriedly got on our way.

We did finally get to YorkÂ’s. I tried for a few minutes to un-tie the lead from her neck, but then I just handed the other end to the guy helping me unload her. We had to get her off of the trailer, down the ramp and into a catch pen. The horrific time I had getting her onto the trailer that morning was fresh on my mind and I was dreading a repeat performance. "This isnÂ’t going to be easy" I said. He looked at the pig and said, "Come on!!". She quickly sat up and he walked her off the trailer like a trained poodle. I guess I never asked her nicely.