Something that's been keeping us busier than we need to have been (and don't get me started on all the others - that's the problem when gaps between blog posts are so long - far too much to say) is that old not-favourite: escaping pigs.
One pig in particular has been doing a runner through, under and (having seen his pregnant sister tackle a door I put on the Pig Ark) probably over the two-strand solar fence. We've patiently (or at least, Her Outdoors has) been putting him back behind the wire every morning, using yummy food as the bait. But it's wearing, especially when we have so much other Stuff To Do (did I tell you we have a lot on? One observation on this life we have chosen - I don't think I would be exaggerating too much to say it is a little labour intensive).
This morning, neither of us were especially amused to find one of his sisters had joined him on the wrong side of the fence.
Thinking the battery was low (again), I swapped it for the horse battery. I checked it. Only the faintest 'tick' to show the fence was working. I hammered the earth further into the ground. Still not much of a kick to it. I moved the whole set-up further down the fence. Same result.
Then a vague memory insinuated itself into my mind. Something that Gary and Marlene said when we first got our first pigs.
I just returned from wrapping all the joins of the fence (when you keep enlarging enclosures to add a piece of grass that needs clearing here, a bit of woodland there, you have to cut and tie the wire quite a bit) with little bits of kitchen foil. Turned the fence back on and...
It didn't take long for the often errant pig to feel the force. I checked it with my thingywotsit and power is surging through the wires just as it should have been all along.
Kitchen foil. But you probably knew that already.