Dear Human, 

As a mother pig, I have given birth many times over my short, tragic life–never by choice. The workers shoved a rod inside me to impregnate me and then locked me in a cage so small I couldn’t turn around. I tried to resist, but every movement out of line was punished. I remained trapped between those cold metal bars for months.

I remember the first time they opened my cell. For a moment I felt hope, but it quickly faded upon the realization that I was only being moved to a different cage–the one I gave birth in.

My babies were my only joy, and I loved them like any mother would. I wanted so desperately to care for them, but the cage kept me from doing so. Some didn’t make it through infancy; they lay cold and still on the floor, beside me and the living piglets. Maybe if I could’ve adequately cared for them, they would’ve all survived.

The rest of them were taken from me once they stopped nursing. I don’t know what’s happened to them; I never saw them again. Then it all started over. Over and over again, too many times to count.

Now I’m here, crammed into a moving cage with others like me, parked at what seems to be our final resting place. My only fear is that my children are here too. Or maybe they’re out there somewhere, trapped in the same way I’ve been my entire life.

I’m writing this now out of hope–hope that some humans care about what we pigs endure. The only chance my children have is that there are humans out there who see us for who we are and can empathize with our suffering.

I hope this letter reaches a human with that empathy. If that’s you, you must find a way to help pigs like me. I’ll be gone by the time you read this, but there are many others who still have a chance.

For my children,

A Mother Pig