I was with a new activist when he met live pigs for the first time this past Saturday at Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary in Poolesville, MD.
He was amazed at their size and gentleness and how much their eyes look like ours.
They approached us, wanting to be petted like dogs.
They followed us along the fence of their enclosure like cats, taking in our scents, and probably hoping for food.
They basked in the sun with what appeared to be smiles of contentedness.
I saw a pig run - RUNNING FAST - in joy and anticipation of something approaching, that caught her attention.
We brought them pumpkins, cracked them against the ground for them to indulge, while we indulged in a joyful moment of our own - getting the chance to witness them partaking of this yearly, autumn treat.
The first time I encountered the pigs at Poplar, they were all dozing in their enclosure, about 30 or so of them, surrounded by visitors bending down to touch and hug them. Standing amid this dusty sea of slumbering pigs, I looked at my husband, who was off a bit in the distance, and started to choke up and cry. I knew what their brothers and sisters were enduring that very second in cages, trucks and slaughterhouses around the world. Here I was surrounded by so few who managed to escape that fate to live out a long life in bucolic bliss, and I was overwhelmed by the bittersweetness of that reality. I wanted all of them to be this lucky...
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