Story 36. Written by Jim Waitlord

Emanuel, a three-year-old, 350-kilogram castrated boar fattened for slaughter, lies in his pen. He dreams of his platonic love, Emily, who lives in another enclosure. He imagines that, during the morning slop distribution, she will be next to him, and he might even touch her trotter, instead of only grunting love poems to her every night. He fondly remembers running in the fields as a piglet, snuggling close to his mother's warm body whenever a cold rain came. Now, a bitter cocktail of longing and fear swirls within him. Suddenly, he is jolted awake as a sharp hook is driven through his nostril, attached to a rope. The scent is acrid, metallic, a harbinger of death. Three men are pulling on the rope, and two others are pushing his rear, dragging him from the pen into the middle of the yard. Where strong hands restrain him while a skillful person suddenly slashes his throat. Aunt Mary rushes over with a pot to catch the gushing blood, so that nothing is wasted. The onions are already chopped; what a wonderful blood sausage breakfast it will be for everyone! The village is buzzing, the neighbors are already drinking early in the morning, the air is filled with the smell of palinka and excited chatter. Aunt Mary is a little worried that all these people will devour poor Emanuel, ruining her big pig-fattening business. Soon it's time for the morning feeding, but the other animals, the pigs, goats, chickens, etc., are quite lacking in appetite, even though loud squealing usually signals the start of feeding time. They think, "Damn, is this going to be a mass execution? Or if we upset these people, will we be breakfast tomorrow? Better to shut up; Emanuel’s death rattle still echoes in the air."

The butcher, when he was still in school, had a classmate, a boy from the village. They also kept cows at home. There was a cow he had known almost since childhood. But then she got old. Her milk dried up. His father sent her for slaughter. They were just learning how to slaughter a cow. As the cows came one by one toward the slaughterhouse along a platform, or some kind of narrow passage, there came Bessy, his cow. She recognized the boy, Peter, his classmate. She began to cry bitterly, begging him to save her, to take her home. As a child, Peter still felt sorry for the animals, but his father held him firmly, saying, "This is our job, Peter. Life is tough, but we have to eat." Then the homeroom teacher said, "Peter, you're next, show us what you've learned!" Peter took out the knife and cut Bessy’s throat, while looking her deeply in the eyes. He did so well that he got a B. It's no use; butchers kill so much that they become insensitive. Then when Peter is finished, he gets a job in the factory, which looks exactly like the Birkenau death camp. The monotonous drone of the machines drowns out the gnawing of his conscience, and the blatant queueing of the animals reveals the horrors of mass production. There is even a sign that says, "Work sets you free." Just like the soldiers. Is this advanced civilization? In ancient cultures, if they killed an animal, they said a prayer for its soul and thanked it for giving its life to feed them. Obviously, man is a predator and a carnivore. He has to kill in order to survive. And if we have omnivorous teeth, then we should eat everything, right? But how much does it matter where the meat comes from? Modern meat production is not only responsible for animal suffering but also contributes to environmental destruction. There are people who say, "I don't eat meat because I feel sorry for the animals being killed." Not that this one thing matters. Meanwhile, they happily feed their filthy dogs with meat. Of course, the one they take to get groomed isn't usually filthy until it rolls around in its own shit. A pig is five times smarter than a dog. Wouldn't it be better to keep the pig as a pet and eat the dog? Protein is protein, it doesn't matter where it comes from. But if the production of protein involves so much suffering and destruction, shouldn't we think about what we're eating?

The Pig Holocaust