I have been dreaming nice dreams lately, complete with smells of hot coffee and fresh meat. I suppose it is my mind’s way of getting ready for what I consider to be at least one blessed arrival and maybe two. Of course, I’m not speaking of a new member of the family here, but of an influx of fresh fat-filled breakfast treats and delicious Black Angus beef.

“You dream of cows and pigs?” Why not? Cows and hogs, steaks and roasts, bacon and ham, sausage and ribs, those are the stuff that dreams are made of.

You might be wondering how all this came about. Well, so was I. I usually try to get some fresh beef about twice a year, ordering from a local farmer here in the county. Well, I haven’t done that yet, but I plan to do that this week.

I recently found out where a couple of reasonably priced porcine pals were located and decided to help them on their way to the great beyond, which somewhat resembles the inside of my freezer (if you’re a hog or a steer).

It has been many years since my family raised hogs, which included raising the pesky rascals in the little raised wooden pig lot on the farm. When I got older, I took part in a few fall hog killings, none of which was overly enjoyable.

We never had hogs in the spring to kill, since we were usually more worried about having enough meat to do us over the winter. Besides, meat keeps better in the cold months than it does in the summer months.

A typical late fall routine after the first hard freeze included starting a fire for boiling water in a big barrel, hanging the hog with a chain hoist, cleaning it, dipping it in the hot water, scraping the hide and cutting up the animal for processing.

What with my desire for faster and easier processing, along with my obvious lack of a barn or other suitable facility in which to do this work, I have decided to try and get the hog killed at a processing plant. Besides, I couldn’t see me out under a tree in the snow trying to boil water and hang up a hog. If I had a barn or even a really big garage, I’d think about it.

After calling the slaughterhouse, I learned that the abattoir is only open on the first Wednesday of the month. Each hog costs about $35 from the beginning, which is required. (I asked if I could bring the hogs in already cleaned and scraped, but they wouldn’t go for that, since the USDA inspector has to see the animals alive). With the horror stories that I’ve heard about cows being slaughtered that could barely stand, I figure that’s a good idea. After all, I don’t want to eat something with foaming something-or-the-other disease.

As I said about the beef, I buy all my meat fresh whenever I can. I don’t regularly use grocery stores as my only source. The only thing I haven’t been able to find locally is fresh chicken.

As for the grocery store stuff, there’s nothing really wrong with that. But there’s something special about fresh farm-raised meat. First of all, I know where it came from and have a good idea of what it ate. Secondly, it is usually less expensive to buy larger quantities in bulk. Thirdly, if not for buying a whole beef, I am too cheap to ever purchase prime cuts like beef tenderloin.

Anyway, after talking with the slaughterhouse, I learned the person I’m buying the hogs from wants me to pick them up by this Saturday. That leaves a week between the pick up and slaughter dates. I found myself in search of suitable environs to house a pair of hogs. After talking with one of my friends in Glade Valley, he offered the use of one of his sheds. He also agreed to take one of the hogs off my hands. I only have one freezer, so I was glad to hear that. He also agreed to ride along and help me figure out how to get them into the truck. Since they weigh around 200 pounds each, I figure they’re going to be really hard to manage.

I spent part of the weekend getting the truck ready to haul them, adding a cattle rack around to back made from scrap boards and putting a thick rubber mat in the bed of the truck so they won’t slide around on the bed liner. About 400 pounds of pig could make a nice dent if they went soaring into the cab or tailgate.

What with all the preparations, I should be more than ready for all the things that likely will go wrong. So, if you see me chasing pigs all over Glade Valley, don’t be alarmed. It’ll just be my version of a quick breakfast.

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