Dear Human,
I’m writing to you as a mother. Right now, I can hear desperate screams of my peers coming from the building in front of me. The stench of death fills the air. I know what’s coming–it’s too late for me. But maybe not for my children…
As a mother pig, I have given birth many times over my short, tragic life–never by choice. The workers shoved a rod inside me and then locked me in a cage so small I couldn’t turn around. I tried to resist, but every movement out of line was punished. I remained trapped between those cold metal bars for months.
I remember the first time they opened my cell. For a moment I felt hope, but it quickly faded upon the realization that I was only being moved to a different cage–the one I gave birth in.
My babies were my only joy, and I loved them like any mother would. I wanted so desperately to care for them, but the cage kept me from doing so. Some didn’t make it through infancy; they lay cold and still on the floor, beside me and the living piglets. Maybe if I could’ve cared for them properly, they would’ve all survived.
The rest of them were taken from me once they stopped nursing. I don’t know what’s happened to them; I never saw them again. Then it all started over. Over and over again, too many times to count.
Now I’m here, crammed into a moving cage with others like me, parked at what seems to be our final resting place. My only fear is that my children are here too. Or maybe they’re out there somewhere, trapped in the same way I’ve been my entire life.
I’m writing this because, just now, a human looked me in the eyes and cried. It made me realize not all humans are indifferent to what happens to pigs. If there are more humans like her who feel empathy for us, maybe there’s hope for my children yet.
I hope this letter reaches a human who cares. If you are one, I hope you can find a way to help the pigs like me who still have a chance.
For my children,