The next months went by in a listless stream of eating, sleeping, shitting and occasional spells of depression about their coming end. One day the farmer stepped into their sty with a coloured pen and from what they had seen happening to others before they all knew what it meant. In two days time the truck would pick them up. And so it happened.
Yasmin briefly considered running away but she was to dull and depressed to even do this. When the day had come she followed docilely the others onto the waiting truck. She was surprised how small it was and even more so, when it did not draw up outside a large slaughterhouse but when after a long drive she recognized the small butcher shop of Mr. Jones, just around the corner from her parents. When the ramp opened, it was indeed Mr. Jones himself who stepped into the truck. She heard him say to the driver: "Your pigs are really the best, Jim, even after these long drives they look better than anything one gets around here. Is it any special breed?" This Jim retorted:"Oh no, just ordinary pigs, Sir. But well bred and raised, that shows obviously." Yasmin could have cried. Mr Jones didn't even know whom he was about to slaughter. But at that moment Mr Jones and the driver started to herd them out of the house and round the truck using a plastic paddle. "Did you also think of the two bulls?" Yasmin heard Mr Jones ask meanwhile. "Yeah, Sir. They are in the front of the trailer." Turning her head Yasmin saw that there was indeed a second compartment where two large black and white bulls stood. Then she reached a small pen where Mr. Jones locked them in. Next she saw the two bulls being led past her and heard Mr. Jones remark: "I'll take care of these two beefy guys today and do the pigs tomorrow. A little rest won't do them bad either."
The two bulls were led into a barn next to theirs and Yasmin now realized that they were in the anteroom of the butcher's shop, right next to the cooling where soon she would be sold piece by piece, possibly even to her mother she thought with a silent cry.
After two hours Mr. Jones returned with an aid and clad in plastic. What followed was the brutal end of the bulls, who were one by one butchered before their very eyes. Even at night Yasmin had to think of their empty eyes when the stun gun had hit them. Next morning, however, it was their turn. Mr. Jones stepped into their sty and held a pair of electric tongs. One by one he grapped her fellow pigs by the neck with it and Yasmin could see their ears flash up and their bowels defecate when the currency hit them. Then one by one one they were hoisted up and bled to death. Finally it was Yasmin's turn. She made wonderful sausage and bacon. "It is surely of excellent quality!", was what Mr. Jones would say to her mother when she asked about it.