Conan the Pig’s life changed completely last month as the Town of Purcellville entered his home, Crooked Run Orchard, and began clearing land and trees in preparation for the Southern Collector Road. This is Conan’s story …
Hi. My name is Conan. Conan the Warrior Pig. Silly name for a pig, don’t you think? I’m nineteen, or twenty years old, (I forget) and I’ve lived all but the first three months of my life on Crooked Run Orchard Farm. Not a bad life. Lots of fruit. Lots of straw.
Until last Monday when the farmer for no good reason put a halter on me and opened my pen and started hauling me out of the barn. It was awful. I pulled as hard as I could but I couldn’t keep him from hauling me out of the barn. I screamed, I dug in my feet, I tried to stop him. We did stop, many times. In fact, we stopped under a tree for a while and I rested. I was very out of breath. This was enormously stressful for me. My breathing was coming on me hard and I was getting rubbed down to the skin with the halter. But for some reason the farmer started pulling me again. When we started it was day. When I finally got to my new pen it was night.
I remember it rained during that final push to get me to my new place. I was put in another pen, with a small shelter full of straw. I was exhausted. I slept all the next day. Hey, I’m an OLD pig.
Once before I got out of the barn. But I was much younger then. I started to wander but the farmer and his wife found me and brought me back. I remember we had to cross the woods and a creek, and I had two seizures, but I was all right. But that was different. It was getting kind of cold at night and maybe that was why they wanted me back in the barn.
This time I was pulled because of a fence. They put up a fence and all the land on the east side of the fence was someone else’s. So we needed to get off of that land.
I’m still very tired and I sleep a lot and I don’t eat much. That was a very traumatic journey for me, at my age. So if you’ll excuse me I need to get some more rest.