Big Red

Big Red

Creative Non-fiction

about 2,200 words

by Jordan J Hall

The Beginning

Big Red was estimated at 350 pounds when we got her. She sauntered her maroon body down the trailer’s ramp, wagging her hocks all the way. A white stripe around her front shoulders accentuated their bulk as she casually sniffed out her new surroundings. Big Red was a sow to be reckoned with, I’d seen her at the county fair earlier that summer and was certain she was the pig I needed. We bought her off Dan Thompson, who knew a thing or two about pigs. Dan had been dealing with animals for years, helped his kids raise grand champion beef a time or two and worked a day job doing butchery at the IGA. The man knew meat and what makes it good. Dan said Big Red was about as sturdy as they come. He was not wrong.

I had only one notion in mind when I asked dad to acquire Big Red: win Wisconsin's Largest Pig contest at the county fair. My plan was simple: feed Big Red limitless food and water, repeat daily. I knew she needed to be near 1,000lbs to be in the running for 1st place, so I resigned myself to the fact I was undertaking a multi-year task. We leaned into it. Big Red was the biggest pig on the farm and her farrowing supported that. The sow’s first few litters went smooth, but she grew faster than expected and her litters expanded with her size. Over a span of 18 months, she farrowed thrice spawning enough piglets to field a football roster. Big Red’s first litter was a stunning 12 piglets, five months later she farrowed 15 and six months after that she gave birth to 16 grunting wonders. Not a runt in the bunch! I was ecstatic.

A pig’s willingness to put anything in its mouth is amazing. Thanks to their robust digestion they can handle uncommon foodstuffs. I'd pull all kinds of weeds and toss them in her pen to gobble up. Sumac, thistle, quack grass, nettles, milkweed, clover, alfalfa, it did not matter to Big Red. The market hogs got a special blend of feed from the mill, but Big Red got good old-fashioned field corn by the bucketload. High moisture corn kept whole kernel then augured in from the Harvester. Ten gallons of corn, morning and night. This, plus all the rotted stuff that had hopped the hopper and spilled on to the ground. I chopped out wheelbarrows full of rancid, fermented kernels, stuff not even a goat would eat, but Big Red didn’t flinch. I would take spoiled milk by the gallons; freshened cow’s milk has blood in it, not fit for human consumption.

And the water, so much water. I trudged out 10 gallons in the AM and 10 gallons in the PM, splattering as I went. No matter how special the day, regardless of the event that night, Big Red had to be fed. Dad did only the school day mornings; the nights, all weekends and school vacations were on me. I made sure she got all the kitchen waste, spoiled eggs, old cheese, bad fruit, all of it. She ate and ate and ate our would-be problems away. Big Red could not be stopped, everything was food to her.

Just when I thought Big Red couldn’t get any more amazing, she gave birth to a litter of 18 piglets. It was a frozen February morning, two were born sleeping, but the remaining 16 were healthy. She must have been 800 pounds at the time and required loads of space to manage herself. I’d been warned about keeping sows this large as they have trouble lying down and can accidently lay upon their piglets, squishing them to death. ‘Not my, Red,’ I thought. I strawed out her shed for maximum comfort and made sure to stuff any holes to keep the place snug. Snowpack surrounding the pen was a solid two feet and provided great insulation, adding to the hay bales I stacked in the fall to protect against the wind. Warmth is hard to come by during the dead of winter in northern Wisconsin; a being can fall into trouble if you don’t have people checking on you. I made sure to check on Bid Red and her brood every night.

Trouble Afoot

It didn’t take but a day for the concern to come. The lighting was poor in the farrowing shed so I had to count a few times. There were only 14 piglets now. It took a bit, but I found a squished one under some dirty straw. Perhaps the 16th wandered out into the blurry snowbank but that was doubtful. I took the dead one with me and thought little of it. I returned the next night with a flashlight to be certain of the count. Only 12 piglets remained, but this time no lifeless bodies. I got tense and left. The following night there were 11, again, no remains. Regretfully, I had enough information to know she was eating her young.

Dad said the piglets were not ready to be weaned, but do we risk anymore of them dying? We did. Given that an average litter of piglets was five, we were playing with house money, so in hopes of strengthening the wee piglets, we waited. After another week of inaction, we were down to seven piglets and decided to pull them. The added labor of hand feeding seven pigs was far better than seeing this gruesome contest any further. Big Red would not be bred again. Perhaps she got her wish. Maybe I got mine. It was five months till the fair and I needed all her energy focused on growth.

With spring came new life, and the lambs that did not make it. I snuck her a few and felt oddly responsible about it. Aside from the grizzly fruit, I continued the gallons of curdled milk and melon rinds. Big Red ate stale bread by the loaf and a couple hundred corn cobs before July was finished. I was confident our regimented eating was paying off, but we did not have a scale big enough to prove it. Some days she appeared tiny, only 3 times the size of the market hogs. I needed her to be 4 times that size, so made sure to sneak her an ice cream cone, or two.

The Fair

Judgment day finally came; weigh-in for Wisconsin’s Largest Pig would be the day before the fair. As a passenger she was more spectacular than I could have imagined. Easy on the trailer, easy off. Big Red impressed the fair gentry with her size and mobility. I was hoping for at least 1,000lbs and really wanted her to break 1,100lbs but knew it to be foolhardy. My secret desire was for Big Red to outweigh Balthazar, the Oden’s embarrassment from a few years before. Sure, he won the title, but he was unsteady at best; I don’t know how they got that boar in the trailer. Regardless, he topped out at 983lbs and deserved acclaim, but he did not deserve the punishing heat of the spotlight. After only one day at the fair, he expired in all his hairy-balled glory. Slumped on his side it took hours for the sad farmers to admit Balthazar was not ‘just sleeping’. Poor cur had to be covered with a blue tarp until the fellas could squeeze a tractor between the barns to remove him. It is thanks to that fiasco that the largest hog is no longer displayed out in front of the barns. No more a spectacle, the honor of Wisconsin’s Largest Pig comes with a proper pen at the end of the main aisle with the cooling fans close by.

Moseying like a cow, Big Red was first on the scale. I held my breath as the sow steadied her bulk and sniffed the sweet corn left in the center of the platform. Watching the officials move the dials, my heart sank to see Big Red’s numbers were sub-800 pounds. I was certain it had been enough, but it appeared I would need another year of daily feedings to reach my goal. They were about to shoo her off the scale when someone hollered, ‘wait’. One of the support wedges used to transport the massive device to the fairgrounds had not been removed. We had to maneuver her off the scale, wait 20 minutes till it was put right, then do the whole thing over again.

Big Red tipped the scales at 1,060lbs; I was pleased as punch. There wasn’t another hog within 200lbs of her. She took the crown of Wisconsin’s Largest Pig, and I took the $300 check. So many norms were broken by Big Red. Having a sow lead the pack gave me a certain sense of pride, since Boars are usually the ones allowed to grow this size. I mentioned that fact every time the subject came up over the remaining four days of the fair. Too bad it wasn’t the only thing folks wanted to talk about around Big Red’s pen. She demonstrated her fitness as a mother had long passed and she had just accomplished her sole purpose. What peak did she have left to climb? Love.

Spam, a.k.a. 'Stubby', a.k.a. 'Potbellied Wonderpig'

It started as a joke. We arrived the first morning of the fair to find Stubby, our 55lb pot-bellied boar, had gotten into Big Red’s pen. I was about to separate them, but the Fair Gentry thought the pairing hilarious and told us to keep him in there. Stubby was dusty black with a lean body and full tail; he made everybody take notice darting back and forth between Big Red’s careful steps. She ate lazily and he nibbled up her crumbs.

I don't recall how we acquired him, but I remember wanting a potbelly pig before it came to fruition. “Spam!” I said instinctively when Dad asked what to call him but given his stature everyone called him Stubby. He was a steely eyed cuss from the start, always on the lookout for the best meal. Being 50 pounds will cause anyone to keep their guard up, but it was clear the pig wanted nothing to do with protection. Adventure was his primary focus. The twitching of hearts must have begun on the farm, but it wasn’t until the County Fair that their love blossomed, or at least witnessed. Twin fames, I think the witching class calls it, a pair that cannot be held apart.

News of their copulation spread around the barns quickly and 4-Hers of every age were talking about the odd couple of the livestock world. Soon even the carnival workers were stepping off the Midway and swinging by the hog barn to watch pigs pork. Never was there a greater mismatch in the physical realm, yet such connection amongst the astral flames. Thank god for Spam’s sake Big Red was the weight she was. Given her immense size she often had to lay and rest. These were the times their love could bloom.

The Great Feed Trough In the Sky

Alas, their affair would be as brief as it was fiery. Big Red had pains we could not see and was becoming more sour every day. Even with the likes of Stubby at her side she was prone to angry fits. There were more than a few close calls on the fairgrounds, reports of her lunging at fairgoers could not be ignored. It was only a matter of time that her size and power equated to catastrophe. I must admit, there was a relief in me when the decision was made to ship her to the stockyards. A pig her age would only garner 30-40 cents per pound but that would get me another $300 after hauling fees. I could feel the ease in my shoulders as I realized I would no longer have to lug her food every night.

Big Red left for the auction house straight from the fair. Stubby threw a monster fit the whole trip back to the farm, thrashing and scarring up innocent gilts in the flurry. I consoled myself by thinking the stockyards did not mean certain death for Big Red, but I knew the likelihood was 99%. Most likely she got made into a heck of a lot of bratwurst.

Stubby was a bona fide escape artist so I expected him to get out of the pen quickly once we got him out of the trailer. What I did not expect was for him to stay gone. No matter how many times he’d gotten out over the summer he was always back in the pen the next morning. My brother said he saw him streaking across the pasture within an hour of landing, that was the last anyone laid eyes on him. Stubby’s home was never dad’s farm. Apparently, Stubby’s home was in Big Red’s heart. I am sorry I took that away. In that regard, I’m also the matchmaker in this situation, so I guess it all evens out. I hope Stubby is still out there screaming her name. I hope Big Red can hear him.

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