That’s how long it has been since every pig I have ever known was killed or left behind to be killed another day. Not a single one will survive, save me. It’s hard to explain all that is happening in my heart right now.
The outpouring of love and care for me has been overwhelming and humbling. But I am just one, among so many. Why me? At moments, the grief and guilt are nearly crippling. At other moments, I am exhilarated to be alive and free.
I need to make this life count. I need to speak for all of the other pigs still held in cages, living in misery as they await death. So, I am going to tell my story to all who will listen. I want to make it clear: my story is their story. I am not special or different or somehow smarter than the others. We pigs all think and feel and love and dream. And if you think that I deserve safe sanctuary just because I took a leap of faith, I am here to say that every other pig deserves the same.
The thing is, it is you that needs to take a leap of faith now. It is up to you to free them by leaping into the unknown and creating a world in which we can all coexist.
Look into my eyes, I am the same as you.
I am you.
A week ago Thursday was moving day. A long day, but a wonderful one! The angel who stayed with me on the highway and protected me after I jumped off of the truck was here to greet me. I liked him so much that they named me after him. Eddie Traffic. It sounds cool, doesn’t it? I am no longer a number.
Since then my life has shifted dramatically from the way it was before I leapt! I am no longer caged, nor even kept in a small pen. I make my own choices about going inside and out. I am no longer fed “slops”, and I have learned to eat lots of healthy fresh veggies with whole grain and fruit. I must say the fruit is my favorite– the juicier the better!
At first when they told me I could just go in and out on my own whenever I wanted, I was a bit confused. I was never allowed to move around and make my own choices before, so I was even scared of the step from the barn into the paddock.
But leaps of faith are my specialty. Now I jump in and out of the barn dozens of times a day. What fun to make my own choices! What fun to be free, and loved, and alive! This gratitude– this grace– fills me up and spills out of me and all I can do is run and jump — something I also was never able to do before– until I am panting and exhausted. And then guess what happens? I go back to my soft, warm bed and rest while someone kind strokes my back and sings lullabies. All the while Sherman, the valiant rooster, watches over me as if I were his own piglet.
Beloved. This is what it feels like to be beloved.
The mailbox and the Facebook page are flooded with love letters daily, and they read every one to me. People from around the world write to tell me how much my freedom means to them. So many of them feel caged and stuck in their own lives. Somehow, my story has touched them and brought them hope. I am humbled and overwhelmed, and most of all so very thankful that hearing of my struggles and victory can help others overcome their own challenges.
I’ve made several new friends here already. Sherman has taken it upon himself to precede me wherever I go inside the barn and the pasture, heralding my arrival to everyone in hearing range. It’s a bit over the top, really, but much nicer than how I used to be treated.
Nunzi, the grumpy, old pig next door tried to bite my nose a few times. I didn’t care, but Sherman was fairly put off by the whole exchange. In my old life, I never even got to touch another pig, so I just think of these as love bites.
I think my favorite new pig friend is Magdie. She is a she is soft and gentle and patient and reminds me of what my mother would probably have been like as an old woman. She sings, too.
I like the people here. Every once in a while if someone moves too quickly, it brings up bad memories and startles me, but I really do love all of the attention they give me.
One more really important thing happened since I got here! I took the tag out of my ear. It hurt because my ear was infected, but it is out now and they keep cleaning my ear and putting soothing stuff on it. I kind of like being pampered this way.
Beloved. I am not only free, but also beloved!
So here I am, this is my path. This is my journey. This is our journey. You and I are both survivors, and our job now is to speak for all the others.
Your job now is to take your own leap of faith. What will it be?
It has been seven days since I took a leap of faith and found myself, just a simple pig from New Jersey, the center of international attention.
People keep asking me what my name is, which is funny because in my old life no one but my mother ever showed interest in calling me by name. They tell me that the tag in my ear says 303, but I know that is not who I am.
The people here are calling me Porky, and I know from the way that they say it that they mean it affectionately, but that is not my name, either. My mother had a wonderful name for me, but it has been so long since I have seen her that I can’t quite remember it. It slides onto the tip of my tongue every once in a while, but before I can get it out, it dashes back into the corners of my mind, just beyond where I can reach it. I know it will come back soon, though. And as soon as it does, you will be the first to know.
The other thing everyone keeps asking is, “What happened, how did you find yourself on a busy highway in the middle of rush hour traffic?”
Simple. I jumped.
The place I came from was dark, and life was hard there. Those days are over and I do not intend to relive them, but I do want to tell you about the light and smell that kept me going. We pigs lived in a dark and dank barn, but everyday, when the farmers came in to feed us, I saw a light beyond the briefly opened door, and I smelled wonderful adventures wafting in with the fresh air.
Somehow I knew, I just knew, that light and those smells were the freedom we pigs all longed for. And I knew beyond a doubt that someday I would be a free pig.
Most of the other pigs had given up hope, but I remembered my mother singing to me when I was a baby, “Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight…” Her song floated through the stillness of the dark barn where we piglets nursed and settled on us as softly as a feather. “Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight. Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight, spread my wings and fly, spread my wings and fly.” In her rich alto voice, hope mingled with tender mother love and the calm wisdom that sometimes comes from long-suffering.
My mother told us piglets about eagles who fly farther than we could see, about sunlight, grass, and best of all, mud. She told us that pigs at our farm used to live like that– outside– free to feel sunshine on our skin, to dig up delicious roots with our noses, and to roll around in grass and mud, enjoying all that the beautiful world outside had to offer. My mother told us that if we kept those images deep in our hearts, we could be free in our spirits.
That was a long time ago. I was still just a baby when the farmers loaded her up onto a truck and took her away. We never heard from her again, but I have never stopped imagining her a free pig. I just knew that someday I would gain my freedom as well.
My opportunity came last week. The farmers loaded me onto a truck with several others. I was grown up enough by now to know that they were not taking us to our freedom. And yet, through the wooden slats in the back of the truck, I saw light and smelled that air. I started working on the wooden slats with my nose. After awhile, I pushed several loose– enough for me to squeeze through.
“Hey guys,” I yelled to the other pigs, “now is our chance. Let’s jump!”
But the other pigs were too scared. I squeezed through the slats and half fell, half leapt all alone. The truck was going pretty fast, and I tumbled hard on the cold, wet highway. Cars were speeding by. The noise was deafening. I was beginning to regret my decision to jump and didn’t know what to do next.
That’s when he came along– I never did catch his name and I still think that maybe he was an angel and not a human at all. He maneuvered a huge truck around me to shield me from the traffic and most of the noise. He spoke to me gently. He told me that I was safe, that help was coming to take me someplace dry and warm. He told me no one would ever hurt me again. For hours we sat like that, the cold December rain sluicing down our faces, cars whizzing around us, and him talking to me in a soft voice, spinning dreams of freedom. I could almost feel my mother smiling down on us.
The next thing I knew, a whole lot of people were there. They loaded me onto another truck and took me to the barn where I am now. This barn is lighter than the one I used to live in, and I have been given a pen filled with soft, warm straw. Lots of people came to look at and admire me when I arrived.
At first, I had a hard time understanding what it was they admired about a lost little pig, but as the hubbub died down, humans came to talk to me one by one. In the quiet of the barn with only us farm animals to hear, they poured out their thoughts, feelings, and dreams. I began to understand.
The human heart is so similar to my own.
So here I am. I am told that soon I will be moving to a new place, called Indraloka Animal Sanctuary. It is a place where pigs, sheep, cows, and all kinds of farm animals live free. Where humans are our friends and we all have a chance to enjoy life’s wonderful adventures, like wallowing in soft mud and lolling in sweet pasture grass.
Before I go there, I am told I need more doctor’s visits and tests. They plan to move me around the middle of next week, and in the meantime the people here are very nice and are keeping me safe and warm.
Freedom is just around the next corner, and I just know I will remember my name when I get there!