The Runt in Stories from Bryantsburg Prairie

My family are farmers. They raised hogs and did field crops. When I was fairly young they still bred the pigs right there on the farm rather than just buying and raising them from a certain age. There was one day that my daddy brought a piglet out from the little nursery building next to the shop. I’m guessing that’s what happened. The only thing I clearly remember to this day is the sound and the blood. It was a runt you see, and wouldn’t have survived. So my dad had to put it out of its misery. Luckily he made sure I was behind one of the farm trucks so I wouldn’t see. But I could still hear the body cracking against the cement wall as he bashed in the skull. And from under the truck I could see a little stream of bright red blood running along the ground. I would imagine children and even some adults that would have been horrified and even traumatized by this experience. I wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I was sad that the little thing had to die but that was just part of life on the farm. I knew things died. But I did experience death in a new way that day and I think that’s why that memory remains so strong in my mind.