Dear Louisa

Dear Louisa

“Hey, Carl, it’s neighbor Jane. Say, would you have any beer?”
“What?”
“Beer. Just a few cans of beer. The cheaper the better. I can pay you back.”
“I don’t think so, but Ron, my son-in-law down the road probably does.”
“Okay, I’ll hang up so you can call him and ask. Thanks.”

When Carl calls me back and says Ron has some, I race up the hill and over to his house, score two beers, and rush back home.

Farrier Frank is on his way to my place. We’ve tried sweet-talking Louisa, my Kunekune pig, into having her hooves trimmed, we’ve tried holding her (not a chance!), and we’ve tried distracting her with watermelon. Nothing has worked, and her hind hooves are getting too long. Hence, the beer.

I’m not crazy about this idea, but I’ve heard from Frank and others that it works. The beer will make Louisa mellow like she’s at a spa day. Frank’s plan is to trim the hooves of Diego and Carlos, the donkeys, and then to attempt Louisa’s after she’s drunk the beer.

Thinking back to my drinking days, I try to figure out how long it’ll take to get Louisa to relax, lie down, and enjoy her day. Thirty minutes before Frank is due to arrive, I find a bottle opener and pop the cap off the first bottle.

A good Wisconsin girl, Louisa loves her beer. Before I can say, “Slow down there, partner,” she’s slurped it all up. I rush to get the other bottle and pour it into her bowl as she impatiently pushes my hand with her snout, eager for the second round.

Unfortunately, it has no effect. I stand by and talk to her as she runs her mouth around the bottom of the bowl to get every last drop. She doesn’t get mellow, she doesn’t lie down, and she hasn’t become the life of the barnyard. This pig can hold her beer. She even walks straight.

Luckily, Dane arrives with a six-pack of Driftless Cow Cult Stout. When I look surprised, he says, “It’s all I had in my refrigerator.”

This is getting costly.

Watching Louisa closely, we allow her to indulge in two more beers. By the time Frank appears we think she may be getting tipsy, but mellow isn’t how I’d describe her. When we try to get her to lie down, she starts squealing louder than a police siren. She wants more beer.

We won’t give it to her. After an hour of trying to wait her out, we realize four beers is nothing to this gal, and she’s having none of the sweet-talking, let-me-pamper-you-and-cut-your-nails routine. Frank goes home, Dane and I head back up to the house, and Louisa eventually sleeps it off. Not even any sign of a hangover.

Weeks have gone by and now Dr. Katie is here. After guesstimating Louisa’s weight at 100 pounds. Dr. Katie mixes a cocktail, injects it, and soon Louisa is fast asleep. I’m a panicked mess. Dane and Frank are amused, and the vet is monitoring her vitals.

Frank gets busy. Louisa’s front hooves are fine. It’s the back ones I worry about. While monitoring Louisa’s breathing, Dr. Katie also trims the hooves of the goats—Grandma Peepers and the young'uns, Hans, and Vincent—while Dane and I take turns holding them still. Diego and Carlos had their trim before the doctor got here.

I remember how, just the other day, Dane had set up a chair out back and ran a cord out for his shaver. I trimmed his hair while the donkeys, Louisa, the goats, dogs, cats, ducks, and geese all milled about. It was a peaceful scene.

Granted, I wasn’t cutting Dane’s toenails, yet I can’t help comparing the two situations. Dane sat so still—no beer or drugs were needed. When I started with the scissors on his eyebrows and inside his ears, he might have liked a few Valium or even a beer, but I had none to offer.

As I walk Dr. Katie to her car, I ask how fast Louisa’s hooves will grow out. She doesn’t have an exact answer, but Louisa is seven years old and they’ve been fine up to now. My plan is to put more concrete in the pen for both her and the goats, hoping it will help keep their hooves reasonably in control.

As for Dane, he needs a trim every four weeks; the donkeys’ hooves, every other month, the goats’ hooves, a few times a year. May it be at least another seven years before we need to do dear Louisa’s again.