by: Dr. Bo Brock
I have always heard about hog operations in the Upper Midwest but had never actually been to one until recently. These places are the pinnacle of where science and agriculture meet. The pigs are genetically programmed to grow fast and efficiently while being resistant to many diseases. This disease resistance doesn’t keep these hog farmers from being sticklers for cleanliness, though; oh no, they are germ nuts. That’s right, they don’t want even one germ to enter their pig facilities. This is where the story starts.
One of my hosts at this vet clinic in the Upper Midwest had been so kind as to arrange a tour of one of the farrowing facilities in his practice. I was looking forward to experiencing high-tech pig production at its finest. On the trip over, he explained the production expectations of such an operation: fifteen hundred sows in one building having litters 2.5 times per year and shooting to wean about twenty-six pigs per sow per year. Wow, that is making some pork. I was anxious to see how all this worked as we pulled into the farm.
As we entered the front door of the farrowing facility, I estimated the building to be about the size of a football field. It was quite, clean, odorless, and well kept. The first person we encountered as we entered the reception area was the owner of the facility. She was a kind-looking woman with a wonderful smile and an extreme Midwestern accent.
“Glad to see ya. You guys grab a shower and come on in,” were her opening words from the “germ-free” area.
“Glad to see ya. You guys grab a shower and come on in,” were her opening words from the “germ-free” area.
I had heard about this shower thing but had never actually done it. This is a requirement for anyone who enters one of these high-tech facilities. You have to take off all of your clothes, take a shower (including washing your hair), and on the other side of the shower, clothes to wear while you are in with the pigs will be provided for you.
The other vet went through, and a red light came on indicating that it was my turn. The first little room was separated from the second little room by a shower. I was to take off all of my clothes and take a shower. No big deal, I thought, I’ll just hang my clothes here and hop into this shower. So I did.
The problem came when I entered the next little room on the other side of the shower. Here I was, totally naked, and there it was, a pile of underwear. Underwear is just one of those things that people don’t share. I guess I had never been put in the situation of having to pick out a pair of underwear to put on that someone else had been wearing.
What do you do? It kinda gave me the willies. And where exactly did these underwear come from? Were they left here by others? Did they go to Walmart and buy a variety pack? Sheesh.
I started considering what qualities I would like in a pair of underwear that had recently covered the fanny of a total stranger. After a moment of sorting, it became apparent that size was the major issue. Big, that’s right, the bigger the better. In fact, so big that they actually touch nothing except the waist. And there they were, a pair of argyle boxers big enough for an offensive lineman for the Minnesota Vikings. Inspection of the tag in the band revealed a waist size of fifty-two.
I slid into them and then put on a pair of coveralls. The rest of my trip through the hog facility was spent listening with one ear while trying to keep the size-fifty-two boxers from sliding off. I kept one hand in my pocket, clutching that waistband, for as long as possible.
Finally, a situation arrived that required both of my hands. The boxers immediately fell down to the inseam of the also-oversized coveralls. There is no way to pull up a pair of size-fifty-two boxers once they have fallen without taking off the coveralls, so I decided to just leave them alone and make the best of it.
As far as I know, no one could tell it happened. The only effect it had on me was a great reduction in my stride length. I had to take about two steps to their one for the rest of the tour.
The moral of the story is this: if I ever go into another hog facility that requires showering, I will carry an extra pair of my own underwear that has been wrapped and autoclaved.
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