A pig

When I see a pig, as I did recently on our holiday, a lucky pig with a lovely field to dig up and a shelter to retreat to, I see a pink animal whom I know is intelligent, and with whom I may be able to spend a few moments of quality time, scratching it's ears and grunting together. I also imagine it waiting in the abattoir, smelling death, hearing death, but I try not to dwell on this. I do not think of what it tastes like. I do not know what it tastes like, as I have never tasted pig. When I see a row of peas, an artichoke, a peach, I imagine what they taste like. I know others imagine the taste of bacon when they see a pig. I am so happy that I do not.