There I was on a cold spring night, playing midwife to a panic-stricken pig. The sow was too young to be having her first litter, but my rancher boyfriend, Mike, had been careless in his record keeping. The pregnancy had been difficult, and now labor had her in a frenzy. Mike had called me for help because I was a medical social worker with nurse’s training — and because the large-animal vet would have charged him after-hours rates for a visit.
Dimming the lights, I soothed the sow with touches and whispers. Once she was calm, her piglets began to emerge just minutes apart. After clearing the newborns’ nasal passages, I put them to the sow’s teats, coaxing them to latch on.
