Today Paul came round, to show Will how to despatch a turkey.  That’s the polite way of saying killing it.

These are fairly big bu**ers – Norfolk Black, about 18 months old.  Today they were doing two of the four.   So you hold them by their legs and they stop flapping.  The turkeys loop their necks around so they are still facing forward and upright and can see where they’re going.  The despatching bit involves an iron bar, but I won’t spell out the detail here.  Suffice to say it was humane, quick and painless.

Then the turkeys get hung by their legs somewhere cool and preferably in an outbuilding for the hand plucking process.  (Apparently you’ll be cleaning up feathers for ever if you do it in the house!) Paul showed Will all the tips and tecniques for getting all the feathers out, there are different techniques depending on the type of feather.  As a newbie on a big bird, it took will 45 minutes to pluck a bird.

In this weather, you can then hang the turkeys, for up to 5 days.  You leave it as is – with head, legs and guts still in.  Check it daily around its vent (bottom) for signs of  ‘going off’.

They’re so small and furry. Turkeys are so cute at this age!

Their new home is a large cage, kitted out with corrugated cardboard, wood shavings, drinker, feeder and an ‘electric hen’.  An ‘electric hen’ is a warming plate, that effectively takes the role of the poult’s mother for the first 6 weeks of their life – when they have to be kept warm until their feathers have fully developed and they can then be ‘hardened off’.

When we got it home, we had:

• 4 neck end
• 4 short loin
• 4 loin
• 4 belly
• 4 leg
• 4 hand and sprig
• 8 trotters
• 2 liver
• 4 kidneys
• 2 hearts

Which weighed in at nearly 200kg!

We’re going to pick it up tomorrow.

This morning we got up at 5am.  Mark was coming with the trailer at 5:30 to load the boys in, ‘cos they had to be at the abbatoir by 8am; plus we had to fill the paperwork in.  

Despite last nights tears and sadness, I felt remarkably well about it all today.  It took 35 mins to cajole them into the trailer with boards (to close off the escape routes), melon and pineapple (their favourite!).  I suppose when you’ve never walked up an incline or on metal, it’s all a bit strange.

Will went with Mark in the truck. There was no room for Josh and I, a small thing for which I am grateful for. 

Will said it was all done with dignity and you don’t see anything, apart from unloading them into a pen at the abbatoir.  Monday is pig day, so there were about 30 animals altogether. There is a vet and a meat hygiene inspector present. I would image it would all be over very quickly, to minimise stress on the animals.

Will was back home by 10am – pig-less.

We spent quite a bit of time with Pinky & Perky this evening.  We took lots of photos to remind ourselves of our first, two gorgeous pigs.

We went out to a local curry house tonight, and when we got back (just as the sun was setting), I went out to see the boys – Pinky & Perky.  I gave them tickles and scratches and rubs.  I also shed a little tear (just as I am now as I type this) for our first two pigs, who brought us much joy, taught us many lessons and made me laugh out loud on very many occasions.

And tomorrow, tomorrow they would be no more.  But for today, I had a quiet moment to celebrate their life.

Tomorrow, is the day that Pinky and Perky – our two Berkshire Black boy pigs, our first two pigs ever, go off to slaughter.  The slaughter house is in Kings Lynn, so we’ve christened it “they’re off to the seaside”!

When we set up the smallholding, we made the decision to raise pigs, turkeys and chickens for meat – the whole self-sufficiency thing.  When you finally get to the first time that happens, it still isn’t easy. 

Although, as I keep reminding myself, I know that our pigs have had a happy, longer (by 11 weeks to supermarket pigs) and well looked after life.  And for those reasons, although I’m sad, I know that I have full traceability of where my pork has come from.  I know exactly how they have been fed (they had a penchant for bananas, melon and pineapple!), I have looked after them to the very best of my abilities – so what more can I ask for. 

I’m sure there will be no contest, in relation to supermarket pork – but the proof will be in the eating.

Will gave him a funny look and said “Yes, they’re free range,they can come and go from their house to their pen, whenever they please”. Adamant, Dad said, “No, look they’re out!”

Those pesky, new boy pigs had escaped!!!! They were all curled up asleep, around an old bonfire – snuggled up in the ash. 

Now its important to note, that we live in the countryside and are surrounded on all slides by fields. The boundary to our property is ‘post and rail’ fencing.  Those pigs could’ve trotted off never to be seen again. 

My Dad is a country lad, to Mum, this is all new, and here they were within 30 minutes of arriving, herding pigs, with boards and sticks, back into their pen.  The boys apparently were as good as gold, with two of them stopping for a lie down and a snooze, half way back!

Upon further inspection, they’d had a right good trot round (their trail was marked out by pig poop!), they’d dug up some of our potatoes and visited the turkey pen.

None spooked, none run off. They’d enjoyed their piggy adventure and trotted back to their pen without so much as a squeal.

You really can’t make this stuff up………………………………

Its not just as simple as owning the animals and feeding them, there’s paperwork and traceability.  Each pig has to be tagged with your CPH or “County Parish Holding” number if they are over 12 months old or if you plan to send them to slaughter.  The tag is placed in the middle of the ear with a gun – rather like getting your ears pierced.

Suffice to say the five boy pigs, weren’t overly please about being stabbed in the ear by a tagging gun.

To add insult to injury, we then had to pick each one of them up (thankfully they’re still small enough) and move the into their new pen.

Their reward was food,water and plenty of tummy tickles!