It started on the first day, yes in the first moment of my life, a suffering that only came to an end when I died. I was a pig, just a pig. If I had been born a dog, half the world would have screamed for justice if I had been treated like that, but I was just a pig born to be subjected to six months of martyrdom for me to eat could be. A life. No life actually. From the beginning. But I belonged to someone and people can do what they want with their property, even if a heart beats in that property. It does not matter. Nearly. Dogs are different. Cats too. But not pigs.

My mom gave birth to me. I slipped out of her, glued and bloody, like 13 others. Actually, she would have bitten the umbilical cord, licked me clean, and kept me warm. Would have been if she could, but was unable to move. So, I was very close to my mom, but she couldn’t be there for me, not take care of me like every mom does. I shouted. She heard me. It couldn’t be changed. There was a dim light in the hall and it stank horribly. I was freezing. A person came, snapped one after the other, dried us roughly, cut the umbilical cords and threw us back. Then we had to drink. One of us was too weak and just stayed there. She was dead two days later. She was collected and taken away after being given two days to die. I drank. It was a struggle to squeeze between the brothers and sisters. Only that. I was lying on the cracks and felt miserable. Just miserable. Since we have nothing but the diffuse light, the cold, the stench and a constant noise. My mom would have sung to us under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t. A few days later, I was taken out, turned on my stomach, and the next moment I felt pain that was about to tear me apart. I screamed and screamed and screamed, but the pain didn’t go away. It didn’t matter to humans. Didn’t he hear it? I only stopped screaming when I got tired and fell asleep. The pain persisted for many days. Then we got away from mom, in another box. My eyes stung and I had to sneeze all the time. We stood close together. The joints ached and I rubbed myself hard on the hard floor. There was nothing to do but eat and stand. I didn’t know what hurt more, standing on these crevices or lying on them. Why did we just have to stay in there? Why was there so little space? The bunks were expanded twice, but there was no more space because we were getting bigger. Only if some died. I had survived. But then came the day when the gates were opened and we were driven out. It was bright and friendly and everything seemed so far. For the first time in my life I felt that I could breathe freely. I would have loved to stay there. But that was only for a short moment, because then we were pushed together again. For hours we stood in something that was moving. Painful hours without food and water. It was freezing cold. We snuggled up to warm ourselves as much as possible, but it didn’t help much. When the gate opened again, I saw this beautiful light, breathed the clear air again. I had been outside twice in my life. Then we came back into a hall. We were locked in an elevator. I desperately gasped for breath, but what I inhaled made my senses fade. Not enough not to come back to me in the scalding water. The last time. Then I was dead. And a short, painful life had come to an end. Could you actually call that life?

Millions of pigs in Austria suffer this fate every year. Let’s finally say No! to fully slatted floors, non-anesthetized piglet castration and endless torture transports.

Signs the petition against the suffering of our pigs on fully slatted floors and for straw bedding.