Now you are lying warm and cozy on the straw, have enough space and can go out into the pasture. A few days ago, it was quite different. You lived in a very small space on dirty slatted floors with many other fellow sufferers. Your wounds, which were caused by the sharp crevices, but also by your peers who nibbled at you because you were one of the weaker ones and they were simply boring, so completely without distraction and employment opportunities. Pigs spend most of their time happily exploring their surroundings. But in these shitholes? One step forward, one step back. That was all you could do, constantly exposed to the toxic ammonia fumes of your own excrement, which collected under the cracks in the floor and was never removed, at least for the few months you were allowed to live. You were also totally filthy, but that could be washed off, only the wounds that your body bears still bear witness to this difficult time. Finally, the barn was closed, and you came here to live the rest of your life in peace and quiet. I called you Fridolin.

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