Wednesday, October 30:

   We had seen young male pigs castrated before – once – forty years ago – and there is nothing to it, at least, not for the party of the first part.  We had, however, a little trepidation about doing it for ourselves.  Our beloved vet, while admitting that she herself would do it with the help of anesthetic and stitches, reluctantly advised us to watch a farmer do it as a field operation.  We watched a video.  Nothing to it:  cut, pinch, yank.  Twice.  The first little guy was so outraged at the time, and looked so discouraged post facto, that we left him to the sympathy of his family and let the others wait, until we could see for ourselves how he recovered.  Lo and behold, two days later he could not be distinguished from his fellows, not at a casual glance.  So, today the men finished the job.  Three more little pigs joined the ranks of those “not needed for breeding purposes”.  We learn a lot of new tricks on this job.

   Now I’m going to go bait the mousetraps in the kitchen; something has been gnawing the baseboards.