“She likes caresses,” a farmer says, scratching her pig
behind its ear. The pig is making grunting noises. “She loves
being tickled on the sides the most.” The woman strokes
the animal on its massive back, moving her hand from side
to side. With her fingers she doodles on the pig’s pale pink
skin. Delicately, stronger, delicately.
The beast twists its body and wriggles. Whenever the
woman takes her hand away, the pig knocks against the
wooden fence and thrusts up its chin in expectation, asking
“There are orders already placed on her,” the farmer says.
“These parts,” she circles around both sides of the spine, “a
restaurant will take, and the ribs the fire department will
take for a picnic. My pigs live six months. They are very
affectionate and docile. The unfortunate part is that we kill
The pig stands still, looking up at the starry sky. “She’s had
a wonderful life.”