When I was in elementary school, we used to keep pigs. Actually we had a few types of animals though we were certainly far from owning a farm as such. I understood that the pigs were food and that I couldn't get attached to them but even though I knew this, I still wanted to name them and love them. So I did, and when it was time to slaughter them I cried.
Our pigs were killed and butchered by my father. He would shoot them in the head with a rifle. I don't know if you know this but pigs are pretty tough and it often takes more than one bullet to put one down—and they never go down easy. Sometimes they squeal for quite some time before they die. I was nearby when this happened many times.
One year we had a pig with whom I developed a particularly close bond. He was a smart pig and against my mother's better judgement, this pig and I shared numerous adventures. Once this pig and I stole a woman's underwear off her clothesline and then went swimming in her pool. We actually did this several times before we were caught.
The adventures continued for the summer but inevitably, the time to slaughter the pigs came. On this particular day I was playing on my swing set when I heard the shots and then the squealing. had I been paying more attention I would have realized that the squealing was getting closer. I turned around when this fact became too obvious to ignore and saw my pig pal running towards me at full speed with my father close behind trying to grab him. He had a huge bullet hole in his forehead which was gushing so much blood that it had covered his entire body.
He ran at me and knocked me over. I fell back and he dove into my lap and continued to scream. The blood was soon all over me—all over me. By the time the pig was dead, the blood was practically gushing from the bullet hole and his mouth. My dad was desperately trying to pull the pig off me but he was really heavy and his efforts were not successful. My dad finally managed to roll the pig off of me.
What happened after that was really a blur...I remember my dad apologizing; I remember my mom putting me in the shower; I remember throwing my clothes away.
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