January 13, 2023
With the launching of “ChatGPT” (an artificially intelligent chatbot), A.I. has been in the news and on the minds of many people the last few weeks. As best I can tell, ChatGPT is to online problem solving what google is to online searching. Clearly, for better and for worse, a new day has dawned.
To most people “A.I.” means artificial intelligence and brings to mind super computers, robotic humans and a futuristic dystopia. To many pig farmers though, A.I. stands for artificial insemination and brings to mind very different images.
(Feel free to stop reading now because this blog only gets worse from here.)
For farmers like me, who want to have piglets born this spring, now is the time for breeding. A sow’s gestation is 3 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days, so a sow bred today will have piglets in May, which would be perfect.
At various times in the past, I considered AI for our pigs - usually right after a boar made a nuisance of himself. The predictable unpredictability of a 400-pound boar falling in love on a monthly basis has led to some spectacular escapes, nasty injuries and costly collateral damage.
But as appealing as it was to imagine life without a boar, it was always offset by the realization that we would then need to take on managing the fertility of our herd. This would mean figuring out, for ourselves, how to do everything he was born already knowing how to do. However, the cost of feed has doubled in the last 4 years and having one less (very large) animal to feed became even more appealing. So, we sent our boar packing and have taken on his responsibilities.
The hardest part is figuring out each sow’s heat cycle. The boar always knew - and started frothing at the mouth a couple days in advance. The foam that covered his snout (and anything he came in contact with), had pheromones that were meant to attract the sow. As his anticipation and frustration grew, he would “vocalize”. His lovesick vocalizations sounded like a discordant combination of a mountain lion being stretched on a medieval torture rack and a timber wolf with its tail caught in an elevator door. Our normally peaceful barnyard was soon filled with desperation, frustration, and rage - fingernails on a chalk board would have been a happy alternative.
Last week, once we determined the sow was coming into heat, we picked out the sperm from a catalog of available boar studs. After we placed our order, the sperm was added to an “extender fluid” which keeps it viable for 10 days. It was then packaged in a box clearly labeled “Reproductive Product” and shipped overnight. (I’m not sure I want to know what our mail carrier thinks – and I seriously doubt an explanation from me would make it any better).
Carefully following the directions on the container, we kept it in a dark temperature-controlled environment until we were ready to use it. That part made sense to me, but the instructions also said the container needed to be gently shaken 3 times a day. Apparently, if left unshaken, the sperm sinks to the bottom and the nutrients rise to the top, leaving the sperm to starve. I’m not sure which I find more disturbing: the idea that sperm need to eat - or that, despite their reputation, they really don’t know how to swim.
I sure don’t miss the 400-pound slobbering, screeching display of testosterone, but I now fully appreciate all I took for granted.
He always just seemed to know when, and how, to do what needed to be done. I, on the other hand, stared blankly at the contents of our “starter insemination kit” as Anne read the instructions on her phone. I think we did everything right and one way or the other, we’ll know soon enough. I’m just hoping those little guys really can swim, and I’m a little worried that maybe I should have packed them a lunch.