Short response to "the Night Trucks"

I have to say that I can relate to "The Night Trucks", and that once again, it makes me think of my youth spent at my grandparent's farm, and how one particular memory comes to mind about the same sort of subject. A lot of things that we have read in this class makes me think of those days! My family's farm is not as large of scale of a farm as Kent Meyers' was, with our main emphasis being soybeans and corn, not so much livestock. But, we did have some, mostly consisting of cattle, swine, and a few chickens, just enough for the family and to occasionally sell meat to a few local friends. When I was about eight or nine years old, there was this one little piggy that I really loved. It was the runt of a litter of pigs born on Christmas day one year, with a black and white saddle back pattern and a long scar running down its back, and I named it Holly since it was born on Christmas. The spring and summer of that year I watched her grow up, finally catching up to the size of the rest, but still keeping her gentle nature, being especially nice and patient for a pig. I was the only one who could feed her, mostly since the other pigs would get to it all first since she was so passive. So, every day, I would take her out of the pen and give her her own scoop of food. But then, quite some time later, My uncle Scott came in with the routine bucket: the bucket filled with cheap beer and sliced bananas. I knew what that meant; it meant that the pigs, including Holly, were going to be fattened up to be sold or slaughtered. As a little kid, I was devastated. Holly was my friend, as weird as that sounds. I took care of her ever since she was born, and the day I saw them loaded into that rickety brown livestock trailer, I cried and sat in the house, unable to watch them drive my piggy away.