I went to a свинска слаба today. That is local dialect meaning, "pig wedding." It's actually a pig slaughter. It's a big event. It was amazing. I don't even know where to start. The pictures I'll put on here are a bit graphic, but not the most graphic that I have. This post is not for the faint of heart.

Harmonie and I were outside because we wanted to experience this свинска слаба thing. Harmonie, btw, is a vegan. So we hear the most awful screeching sound. The pig had been fetched from his pen. The noised filled the already dense air with a high pitched wailing that made me want to scream "STOP!" from the pit of my stomach. But at the same time, there was something so natural about the whole process. I'll go into that later.

So they set to killing the pig. They laid the pig on the ground. Two men held it down while the third began stabbing it in the throat. The pig became strangely silent when it was laid on the cold mud. It was so cold outside. Hot air was visibly rising from the pig's mouth. I could see him slowly dying. The rising steam moved from his mouth to the new, bright red hole in his neck. His abdomen slowed in its rise and fall until it ceased completely. The pig's legs twitched for about 30 seconds after the breathing stopped. For at least a minute more, his tiny tail twitched back and forth in an unnatural motion.

Harmonie video recorded the whole slaughtering process. When they carried the beast out of the pen, I really did not know if I would be able to capture any pictures. I pulled through, as you can see. As the little pigtail was twitching, I said to Harmonie like a child, "Look, his little tail is still moving." She replied in a very sad voice, "Yeah Maegen, I know." It was a strange moment.

After the pig was killed, the men set about preparing for the next step. They have these pumps that shoot fire. It took about ten minutes to properly prime these pumps. They lit barrels on fire, the "циганска печката" (a type of word burning oven), and shot streams of fire into the air in order to prime the pumps.

The next step was to begin the process of burning and scraping the flesh off of the animal.

In one hand was the fire gun, and the other held a knife. Burn and scrape. Burn and scrape.

While I could easily see how the whole event could be viewed as disgusting and barbaric, I found it quite natural. Even the men, as they prepared for their work joked that Americans would see my pictures and think Bulgarians are cannibals. This is life. It would be American to think this is barbaric and unnatural. It's inhuman of us to kill an animal with our own hands. I'd rather every family kill a few animals every year than leave millions of animals to be killed by a few people. That seems far more inhumane to me, not for the sake of the animals, but for the people. We weren't made to kill everyday.

As I said before, there was something very natural about the whole event. The entire family was involved. It was a day I did not mind filling the "woman's" role. It was raining, sleeting, snowing all day. The work to be done outside was cold, wet, bloody, and altogether rather unpleasant. Inside, I with my colleague, her colleague, and the all the females in the family cooked. We cooked bread, bonitsa (with fried leek inside), sermi, salads, more bread, pumpkin bonitsa, and more and more... It was like Thanksgiving. But for no real reason.

This pig killing will go on all week. Today they killed two for one daughter. Tomorrow they will kill two for another daughter. On Wednesday they will kill more for someone else. All the men of the family are involved every day. This pig slaughter is a family event. It is not just a day's worth of nasty work. It is celebrated. They celebrate their togetherness. They celebrate their bounty. They celebrate their love and devotion.

More pictures later... No more dead or dying animals. I promise.

Can this provide me a lifetime exemption from being called a princess? Please? Show me a princess who watches pigs get slaughtered!