For all of those who mock people who avoid eating wheat and say it's just a made-up thing, I offer you a great opportunity to prove yourselves correct. Come and spend a couple of nights sharing a room with dear Pig.
The first night, let's say Friday, she will have had her usual diet of anything, apart from asparagus, that is left over from preparing meals in the kitchen, whatever she wants from the meadow garden and a couple of bowls of oats. Then on Saturday she can have whatever you like to feed her. Some pasta perhaps, a few slices of toast, a bit of pizza & whatever wheat grain you choose to feed her. Then I will lock you both in a room and you can tell her all night how a wheat intolerance is not a thing, a made-up first world problem, something people do just to get attention. If you manage to stay in the room all night I'll not charge you for the accommodation, but you're not going to be complaining about making potatoes instead of pasta for your gluten intolerant friends any more.
Pig has always been a fan of oats. On the first day she came to live with us she was so upset and confused about the situation. Even though she was the runt of the litter, tiny and covered in cuts, bruises and (we later discovered) orange mange, she was bereft to be without her brothers and sisters. We could not and would not explain to her that to remain where she was would have been a death sentence. The whole family was destined soon for slaughter. And the farmer had not even charged us for Pig because she was so tiny. Not good enough even for meat.
Instead of a gang of like-looking brethren, she was suddenly faced with beasts of many different shapes and sizes. Two tiny, fluffy and sharp clawed, The big brown disgruntled one with the sniffy nose and the hissy flashy eyed one who only ran through the room on the way for dinner, as well as three in charge, who were tall, two legged, clothed and hairless, and let's not even start on the ones who lived outside in the snow. So she knuckled down in a corner and ignored us all. We had set up the dog crate for her in the corner of the room, because it was the beginning of winter and the temperatures would be below freezing outside for months. We couldn't put her outside straight away. She lay there sadly, not eating any of the tasty treats we brought to her. Not acknowledging us and, I fear, very much hoping the weird situation was a temporary blip.
Finally, Boy managed to break the deadlock. He made her some delicious porridge with raisins and tasty spices. She ate it all up and we all danced around in celebration that the little pig might be okay in the end. And oats became a mainstay of her diet.
Poor Pig. And poor us. The first time we discovered she had an allergy Man was away on business. I had run low on the bags of oats we buy in bulk from Lidl and decided to just use the wheat we feed to Goat and the hens. I soaked a kilo of them overnight and gave them to her in portions throughout the day. By dusk I realised my mistake. The air in the kitchen turned metaphorically green. And this was the only inside space which was habitable in the winter. It's where we lit the fire at dusk. It was where the piano and the sofas live, and did yoga when we were not brave enough to go out to the deck. It was just awful. And tiny Pig could not just be turned outside. Her body weight was too small for life outside without insulation. And she had not deliberately turned into a gas factory. It was, however, a surprise that one tiny animal could be quite so productive - we could have used her as a fuel supply for gas central heating. I lit candles and made a mental note never again to feed her wheat grains.
Since that time we have been pretty careful with where we feed the chickens and not to put any bread or wheaty products in her vicinity. Now she lives outside it's much better, but she does like to come inside in the evenings and sit with us in the lounge if we are about, and you can always tell if a passing friendly stranger has given her a bread roll. But, you know, maybe you're right, we're just imagining it. Why don't you come and see for yourself? Stay over a couple of nights and see...
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Bohemian Antiks Continue
Non-FictionTen years on from the original book, catch up with that British couple who moved to a big old house in the countryside of South Bohemia. We are not expats, we are British immigrants, trying our best to make sense of the society that is kind enough t...
