Friday, 8 November 2019

A Glorious Pig Named Phoebe

Taken away from my mum and dad, taken out of a mud and faeces filled pit of despair; where my mum’s chest was rubbed raw and she found it painful to feed me. Taken away from the threat of seeing my family killed and then cut into pieces.

I was brought into this world just to be chopped into pieces, because I look different to humans and speak differently. Strange that humans don’t devour themselves as we taste so similar and our organs are used to replace human organs. Our skin in tattooed, burnt and injected to test things on. We are used in lots of horrible human ways.

I arrived here scared and unsure of who I was allowed to be. Over the first few weeks, I realised I was allowed to be me. They didn’t mind that I look and speak differently, they just like me for me, which is handy really as I can’t be any different.

I missed my mum and dad; I hurt for them and cried. My humans cuddled me, held me close so I could sleep. Then, one glorious day my mum and dad arrived at the sanctuary as my humans had never given up on getting them out of that terrifying place. I could hear mum and dad arguing in the garden. I felt happy, I showed this clearly to my humans by wagging my tail (humans can be a bit slow sometimes). I also called to them and they called back.

I live my days out here now, with my huge extended family. Sometimes I’m happy, sometimes I’m pee’d off, sometimes excited, sometimes grumpy. Depends on what’s happening, who’s said what and behaved in a certain way around me. I’m the same as everyone else here really, aware of who I am. Aware of my surroundings, aware of how I feel, aware of what I want. It is always a surprise to me that I am not understood clearly by visitors that come here, as my humans at the sanctuary understand me very well. It is the difference between wanting to understand me and remaining wilfully ignorant, that I am just a pig to be eaten and not capable of anything else. Makes it easier to eat me I guess, if you think I am lesser than I am. It’s sad when you think about it, because they miss out on so much joy. I am me; I am Phoebe.

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