The Unexpected Genius of Pigs. Matt Whyman
a while, Butch and Roxi spent their days cohabiting happily with my chickens. The pigs proved to be a fantastic fox deterrent, which made this set-up seem ideal. With their sleeping quarters at one end of the enclosure, and the coop at the other, the two sides quietly learned to get along. The pigs had a size advantage, of course, and so if they moved into a spot to root around, the chickens would duly dance out of the way. Nevertheless, as rescues from a battery farm the chickens didn’t suffer fools. They could get cross very quickly, proving sharp with their beaks, and so a mutual respect evolved.
Until, that is, the pigs cottoned on to the fact that the hens laid treasure inside their coop.
I had considered that the eggs might be an issue. Then again, the nesting box was tucked at the back of the hen house. I didn’t think Butch and Roxi would be wise to the reason why the hens took themselves in there each morning. Through my eyes, the system was pig-proof.
In some ways, the chickens only had themselves to blame. Among the flock was a vocal leghorn who liked to announce that she had laid successfully by squawking for several minutes afterwards. Maybe there was something in the tone that eventually told Butch and Roxi that it was worth investigating, which they carried out much like a police raid on a drug den at dawn.
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