Livestock Agriculture: While Raising Pigs and Guinea Fowl, the Farm Grew Fast
One farmer's misadventures in livestock agriculture might be a word to the wise: Be careful what you yearn for.
September/October 2006
George DeVault
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Garbage-fed pigs
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Country people have big hearts. A large portion love animals and want to try their hand at livestock agriculture and raising pigs, guinea fowl and a myriad of other animals that typically call a farm home. And some among the country folk – sharpies, I believe they’re called – seldom miss an opportunity to save themselves a little work under the guise of doing a good turn for a neighbor in need.
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That lesson came home to roost at our truckpatch in southeastern Pennsylvania one recent summer. A little after sunrise, our three dogs started barking their car-in-the-driveway warning. Curious about all the fuss, I ambled out the backdoor with my first cup of coffee in hand – and bumped into our township manager.
Our daughter, Ruth, was engaged to his nephew, so “Uncle Danny” was hardly a stranger to us. Still, it was more than a little strange to see him skulking about the front of our little red barn at such an early hour, especially with two large cardboard boxes.
“Morning, Dan,” I mumbled, taking a sip of coffee. “What’s in the boxes?”
“Uh, guinea hens,” came the hesitant reply. Eyeing the distance to his pickup truck, Dan looked like he half expected me to run back into the house to fetch the shotgun.
“Ruthie said you’d been talking about getting some,” he quickly added.
You bet! Guineas have been on my must-have list ever since I learned that ticks are among their favorite foods. Guineas can’t seem to eat enough ticks, which also happen to be one of the best crops we grow here, along with poison ivy, stones and Canadian thistle.
Just the thought of having a non-chemical insecticide that ticks will never become resistant to made my day. Guineas also produce eggs, tasty dark meat and are constantly on guard for intruders, making them perfect in my mind. I said so and all nervousness vanished from Dan’s face.
“These are your hens – if you want them,” he said. They belonged to his mother. She and Dan have kept guineas for decades. Grandma Carol recently bought a new bunch of keets, so some of the old hens had to go. Dan was going to dispose of them at the livestock auction an hour’s drive away when Ruth casually mentioned that we’d been talking about getting guineas for years.
Of course, we’ve talked about raising a lot of different critters – sheep, meat goats, pheasants, peacocks, turkeys, geese and ducks – since we bought our place in 1984. The reason we don’t have any large animals is because I grew up in Ohio taking care of five saddle/pleasure horses that were seldom saddled and never gave anyone much pleasure.
I couldn’t thank Dan and Grandma Carol enough for the guineas, though. Dan handed me a box, leaped back in his pickup and flew down the driveway. Then, like a child sneaking a peek under the wrapping of a Christmas present, I pulled up on one of the folded flaps on the box.
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