Being a pig has its good side. I mean you can really eat everything that no-one else wants. Just stick your snout into a garbage can and eat what you find. You just never really feel hungry. On the other hand you have to be careful. Now if you are an experienced pig as I am, that realises that a pig’s life is not always a long life, then you have to be sly. Every time I hear the sound of the truck arriving on the farm I hide, which is not easy when you are slightly adipose as I am. You don’t know what that is. Well we pigs do not really like to be referred to as fat, so we prefer the word adipose. It sounds much more dignified.
Where was I? The life of a pig can be a dangerous life. As I said when the truck arrives I usually make for the corner of the sty, cover myself in mud and hope that I will not be noticed. If there are piglets around it is a good thing to lay amongst them. With luck you will be mistaken for their mother and will be left in peace. The problem is that I had many friends that disappeared when the truck arrived, never to been seen or smelt again.
Eventually I was the oldest most experienced pig in the sty, but had the bad luck that the farmer found me and decided it was my time. As I was rather old he took me to the market and just to make sure I did not return to the sty, he painted on my wonderfully formed pig skin “For Sale”. Now that was an insult if there ever was one. So there I was, feeling sad and lonely, standing in the corner of the pig pen with these insulting blue letters on my wonderfully formed figure.
My guardian pig must have been looking down on me on that day when I heard a voice.
“What do you think you are doing with that pig”. Someone was talking to the farmer.
“I want to sell it” was his answer.
“My good man” spoke the voice “that is no way to treat a pig. It is an animal that deserves respect.”
“What – it’s a pig. Worth every kilo it carries on its bones and would make a lovely roast for dinner. Do you want to buy it?” asked the farmer, still not believing his ears.
“Listen to me, farmer. That pig deserves more than to be marked as an object for sale. Yes I will buy it, but for my children’s zoo. We have many animals that farms no longer need, but the children that visit the zoo respect the animals. They learn that an animal is a living thing and not just consumer goods.”
So that was my lucky day. Now I am relaxing in the dirt and straw in the children’s zoo. What a life this is. They even feed me and stroke me, although I am not too keen on being patted on the head or scratched between the ears. After all I am a pig and not a dog or cat.
Where was I? The life of a pig can be a dangerous life. As I said when the truck arrives I usually make for the corner of the sty, cover myself in mud and hope that I will not be noticed. If there are piglets around it is a good thing to lay amongst them. With luck you will be mistaken for their mother and will be left in peace. The problem is that I had many friends that disappeared when the truck arrived, never to been seen or smelt again.
Eventually I was the oldest most experienced pig in the sty, but had the bad luck that the farmer found me and decided it was my time. As I was rather old he took me to the market and just to make sure I did not return to the sty, he painted on my wonderfully formed pig skin “For Sale”. Now that was an insult if there ever was one. So there I was, feeling sad and lonely, standing in the corner of the pig pen with these insulting blue letters on my wonderfully formed figure.
My guardian pig must have been looking down on me on that day when I heard a voice.
“What do you think you are doing with that pig”. Someone was talking to the farmer.
“I want to sell it” was his answer.
“My good man” spoke the voice “that is no way to treat a pig. It is an animal that deserves respect.”
“What – it’s a pig. Worth every kilo it carries on its bones and would make a lovely roast for dinner. Do you want to buy it?” asked the farmer, still not believing his ears.
“Listen to me, farmer. That pig deserves more than to be marked as an object for sale. Yes I will buy it, but for my children’s zoo. We have many animals that farms no longer need, but the children that visit the zoo respect the animals. They learn that an animal is a living thing and not just consumer goods.”
So that was my lucky day. Now I am relaxing in the dirt and straw in the children’s zoo. What a life this is. They even feed me and stroke me, although I am not too keen on being patted on the head or scratched between the ears. After all I am a pig and not a dog or cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment