I do not even want to remember it, the memory is quite painful: at half past five they sued to drag the pigs out of the barnyard, throw them around the yard in the middle of their bawling, then immobilized them outside the house and there, killed them with a sharp knife. The scream was so heartbreaking that I sometimes could not repress a tear. I was a kid too sensitive, no way to get around it, because my brother, two years younger than me, when he just heard the rattle of the door of the pen, jumped out of bed and went to see how they killed the pig . More than once he even asked to be allowed to stab it, what happens is that my grandfather was a wise man, and used to tell him “when you grow up maybe, let that to men”. Meanwhile, I covered my ears, trying not to hear anything. The worst was when the butcher was not well versed: sometimes the pig was slow to die and the panting of his rattle was worse than the screams. Once or twice a year, in my grandparents’ house, they killed two pigs, to distribute the meat among the whole family (neighbors also got some) and store pork fat in three large cans they kept on the kitchen. This was a party; the whole family gathered at the farm and ate all day long. The only one who did not eat much was my grandmother who did not stop working, and at the end of the day, when everyone was already sitting around the TV, she was still scrubbing kettles, trays, dishes, cutlery and skimmers.<\/p>\n
I told you already: \u00a0I did not like the moment of sacrifice, but then it was something else. The minute silence settle down I got dressed quickly and went to see the process. A dead pig is not the same as a pig about to die. A near death pig can be a terrified creature, fighting for his life. A dead pig, being very pragmatic, is an object. So I liked to see how he was thrown in boiling water, scraped with knives and left his skin white, clean and smooth. \u00a0The best moment was the opening. That was my grandfather\u2019s job, with surgical precision. From the neck to the rear he opened it with a sharp knife. I looked at him stunned: they were coming to light the hidden secrets of an organism, fresh organs, arguably still throbbing. As my grandfather noticed my interest, right there gave me an anatomy lesson: “These are the lungs, this is the heart, this is the stomach (be careful, we cannot puncture it), this is the liver, these are the kidneys … “I hardly moved from his side all morning, attentive to his explanations. My brother, more given to adventure than to contemplation, got bored and moved to do his mischief. At about 9 am they began frying the pork rinds and uppers. When they let the fat drip and that cooled, my brother and I were beginning to look frantically for the fried pork tail. My brother found it and I begged him to give me a bit. Almost always a useless plea …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I do not even want to remember it, the memory is quite painful: at half past five they sued to drag the pigs out of the barnyard, throw them around the yard in the middle of their bawling, then immobilized them outside the house and there, killed them with a sharp knife. The scream was […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2446,"featured_media":13054,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13930],"tags":[],"ppma_author":[33671],"class_list":["post-13076","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-technologies-of-communication-and-media"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n