This little piggy...

Hallowe’en always reminds me of when the farmer first decided to rear rare breed pigs.

It all began one perfectly ordinary evening in front of the telly four years ago, watching Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall wax lyrical about the two plump porkers he was rearing for his kitchen table. ‘Gloucestershire Old Spots were traditionally kept on dairy farms and orchards, eating the apples and whey,’ enthused Fearnely-Whittingstall. The farmer’s eyes lit up.

Then came the series Jimmy’s Farm, the bouncy Essex lad turning his hand to rearing, marketing and selling the rare breed pork from his native Essex pig. And despite all Jimmy’s trials and tribulations, of which there were many, the famer was hooked.

He scoured Scot-Ads for Old Spot weaners (8 week old piggies) and on 31 October 2005, set off with his father for Turriff. Meanwhile, I was at a Hallowe’en party with a houseful of kids getting high on sugar (the kids, not me). In Aberdeenshire, the farmer bundled the two pedigreed piggies into a trailer knee-deep in straw, arriving home some hours later more excited than the kids at the Hallowe'en party!

The plan was to breed with one and rear the other for pork, which we would eat ourselves and give to family and friends. But because we didn’t know which one would get ‘in-pig’ – one might be infertile, the farmer pointed out – 'we' decided it was best not to name them. (So I named them Piper and Phoebe.)

In the Spring, Sonny arrived. Bought from a nearby fruit farm, our long-snouted, ginger-haired Tamworth boar was introduced to the ladies, by now of piglet-bearing age, and quickly became acquainted with the shapely sisters. Now we had to wait 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days to see is Sonny had been up to the task.

He had. And as it turned out, both girls were fertile.

The first litter was born in September 2006, followed a few weeks later by the second. Both times the farmer arrived at the back door proud as punch, saying, ‘Congratulations, you’re a mum!’ Great, I’m a mother of piglets...

Yet despite a combined litter of 11, the farmer insisted he would still be getting rid of one of the Old Spots. ‘You can’t kill one of the sisters!’ I cried, feeling like Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice – ‘how can you choose which one to send to the burner?’ I demanded. (He sensed I was not getting this whole farming thing at all...)

At 7 months old, the first of the litter was ready to go to ‘piggy heaven’ and the farmer, to my complete horror, prepared to send its mother along too. But the day before the big chop, he realised the curvaceous Old Spot was ‘in-pig’ again. Hurrah! This little piggy would stay at home and have roast beef! (Bad luck cows.)