I can’t help but think back on the years we spent running around our properties, riding horses, building bridges across creeks no one else ever even knew existed. Life had no deadlines or expectations.
“Hey, man. I’m just getting off shift.”
“I wish I could talk,” he says. Then he covers the mouthpiece and says, “Watch that gilt in pen three,” and then he’s back to me. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“No problem. You’re at work.”
“And home.” He chuckles a wry laugh. “The two bleed like watercolor around here.”
“I know.”
“Sorry. It’s been a morning,” he apologizes. “Farrowing started early. It’s all hands. I’ve got a few gilts who are first-timers.”
“I’m on my way,” I say without hesitation.
“You just got off shift. You should go home and rest.”
“Can’t,” I say.
“Seriously. We’ve got this, Cody.”
“What would you do for me if we were running thin at the ranch?”
Jace is quiet for a beat before he relents. “Suit yourself.”
I pull into the driveway and park along the railing, walking over to the farrowing barn. A man could do worse things with his morning than spend it with a bunch of newborn piglets.
The barn is active—movement everywhere, sows laboring, Chet calling for help. There’s this indescribable hum that settles whatever was restless in me.
Carli’s bent over in a stall. She’s in full ranch mode—sleeves rolled, hair messy, a look of contented exhaustion in her features.
“Morning!” I shout.
“Hey, Cody,” Chet says. “Glad you’re here. I’m about to go run the feeders in the barn.”
“Put me to work,” I say to all three of them.
“Hose down stall eleven,” Jace says without skipping a beat.
I walk toward the stall, “So that’s how it’s going to be? I come to pitch in and you put me on manure duty.” I chuckle. Jace meets my eyes and shakes his head.
I turn on the hose and start prepping the stall for the next occupant.
The sow a few stalls over squeals. The noise is sharp, distressed—even more than is usual for labor.
“She’s down longer than I expected,” Jace says quickly to Carli. “Eight out. She’s probably got at least two more.”
Jace approaches the pen, crouches, watching for a few seconds.
“We’ve got a stalled labor!” He shouts the announcement, but his movements are calm and precise.
I turn off the hose and stride over to the pen.
Carli’s already grabbing gloves and lube.
“Get the piglets into the box,” she says to me.
I pick the first one up as she grabs another. We clear airways, wipe each piglet, and set them under the heat lamps out of the mother’s way while Jace stays with the sow, his hand feeling for the remaining litter.
