Henry almost didn’t survive the first few days of his life.
His mum gave birth to him in a farrowing crate. At just a few days old, he was pressed in the corner of the barren cage, sick and dying, out of reach of his mother.
Her maternal instincts were overwhelming, and she wanted to be with her baby – but she couldn’t take any more than a step forwards or backwards, she couldn’t turn around, and she couldn’t tend to her sick piglet. Henry’s life – destined to be short and brutal – was going to be nothing more than another ‘acceptable loss’ for Australia’s ‘pork’ industry. It would begin and end in a bleak factory farm, where he’d never know love or see daylight.