Pig Fuck In Little Pussy

⚡ ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻

Pig Fuck In Little Pussy
All Titles TV Episodes Celebs Companies Keywords Advanced Search
Fully supported English (United States) Partially supported Français (Canada) Français (France) Deutsch (Deutschland) हिंदी (भारत) Italiano (Italia) Português (Brasil) Español (España) Español (México)
A spin-off of the popular 'Porkchop' slasher trilogy, 'Pig Girl' follows the daughter of the pig-masked madman, ready to slay a new batch of partying teens. A spin-off of the popular 'Porkchop' slasher trilogy, 'Pig Girl' follows the daughter of the pig-masked madman, ready to slay a new batch of partying teens. A spin-off of the popular 'Porkchop' slasher trilogy, 'Pig Girl' follows the daughter of the pig-masked madman, ready to slay a new batch of partying teens.
Started off hot, sexy, and creepy. The second scene and other scenes then became slow, boring, and stupid. Bad acting and direction. Hardly no horror action. Pig Girl should've been written better and directed better. Took too long to show something happen too much talking. Don't waste your time watching this. The horror industry needs to bring about better horror flicks no matter low the budget.
Suggest an edit or add missing content
By what name was Pig Girl (2014) officially released in Canada in English?
Do You Recognize These Rising Stars?
Fall TV: The Best New and Upcoming Series

Mon., May 26, 2008 timer 17 min. read
update Article was updated 2 days ago
© Copyright 2022 Metroland Media Group Ltd. All Rights Reserved 211 Pritchard Road, Unit 4, Hamilton ON L8J 0G5
This copy is for your personal non-commercial use only. To order
presentation-ready copies of Toronto Star content for distribution
to colleagues, clients or customers, or inquire about
permissions/licensing, please go to: www.TorontoStarReprints.com
From November to May, reporter Steve Buist and photographer Barry Gray chronicled the life of a pig from birth to table.
It's Nov. 22. The season's first glaze of ice has formed on the roadside ponds that line Highway 24 north of St. George. Piggy was born today at 2:42 p.m. He weighed just 900 grams. That's two pounds -- about the same as three good-sized pork chops, or a tub of margarine. Piggy doesn't know it, of course, but at 2:42, the clock started ticking toward his last, inevitable trip down the highway to the slaughterhouse. PRIOR TO Piggy's arrival, only three animals in the Littlejohns' barn had names. Larry, Moe and Little Curtiss are the farm's only three boars, or uncastrated males. They're big, they're hairy, and because of the male pheromones in their scent, they give off an even stronger odour than the other pigs in the barn. It's that scent that makes the three boars useful. Larry, Moe and Little Curtiss are used to get the breeding sows in heat -- ready to reproduce. It's a life of relative luxury. The three boars eat, sleep and periodically get paraded through a pen full of eager females. Alas, the three males perform ceremonial roles only. While they've been allowed to retain their testicles, they've each been given a vasectomy to prevent them accidentally inseminating a sow. Breeding is an important part of the daily ritual at the Littlejohns' farm, a sophisticated enough process now that it can't be left to nature. In 1991, just 8 per cent of sows in the United States were inseminated artificially. Now, the rate is more than 70 per cent -- even higher at large hog operations. At the Littlejohns' farm, all of the sows are inseminated artificially. Curtiss Littlejohn, the farm's owner, starts his day by analyzing animal-growth performance figures tracked by a swine genetics program based in the Netherlands. He uses those markers to select semen from the top-performing boars at Hypor, a Canadian company that's become a world leader in pig genetics. In addition to raising hogs for the pork market, Littlejohn raises female pigs that will be sold to other farms as breeding stock. Producing top performers is crucial for him. Using statistical calculations based on weight, growth rate and amount of fat deposits, Hypor has developed a system for genetically ranking its animals so that accurate predictions can be made about future offspring. "In the days of my great-grandfather, they'd look at an animal and say, 'Hmm, he looks good, he's grown bigger than his brother or his sister,' so we selected it," said Patrick Charagu, senior geneticist for Hypor in Regina. Charagu grew up in Kenya and eventually became a faculty member with a specialty in animal breeding at the University of Nairobi. He came to Canada in 1993 and landed with Hypor in 2002. On the paternal side, Charagu said, Hypor looks for high growth rate and high meat quality, including leanness. On the maternal side, good reproductive qualities are prized -- high fertility, large litter sizes, high number of litters per year and high birth weight for the piglets. Geneticists are also now paying more attention to the physical strength of the sow, so that she can withstand the constant cycle of pregnancy and nursing that she'll be subjected to over her four- or five-year lifespan. THERE ARE all sorts of jobs in this world that would make the average person go, "Ewwww." Tony Charanduk's got one of them. Charanduk is the manager of Hypor's artificial insemination stud farm in Ituna, Sask. That's where semen is collected from a herd of 150 boars to be distributed to pig farmers around the world. It's a job that requires a personal touch. Literally. Pig semen is collected by hand, and that's one of Charanduk's jobs. "It makes for interesting conversation, that's for sure," said Charanduk. "Do you find that people don't want to shake your hand?" I asked, hoping he had a sense of humour about his job. "It's always a big joke when someone asks you what you do here," Charanduk said with a laugh. "You try to stray around the subject as much as you can but eventually you're caught." The first step in the collection process is to get the boar to mount a metal dummy. "Boars are very aggressive and they're not that hard to train," said Charanduk. "Once they've done it once, they'll do it every time they come in." A technician then grabs the boar's erect penis -- with a gloved hand -- and the procedure takes anywhere from five to 15 minutes. In a scientific paper titled, "A Guide to Basic Boar Semen Collection," Professor Wayne Singleton of Purdue University offers a warning that is ominous and dryly amusing at the same time. "Always allow the boar to complete his ejaculation," Singleton wrote. "If you let loose too soon, be prepared for a challenge. He will not want to leave the dummy. "You will make this mistake only once." Semen is collected on Sundays and Wednesdays at the Ituna farm. Depending on how much is needed, about 80 to 90 per cent of the boars will provide samples. Each boar produces anywhere from 100 to 400 millilitres of usable ejaculate per sample, which can be split into about 20 doses on average. The fresh semen will last about seven days refrigerated, and most farms will receive two shipments a week. "To me, the nice part for the animals is that it's a completely natural experience for them," said Charanduk. "I know with cattle and horses, they use an electrical prod to get semen out of them. With pigs, you can train them to do it and they're perfectly fine with it." AS WE watch Larry wander listlessly around one of the sow pens, Henry Sietzema tells me he's concerned about the boar's lack of interest. "He should be jumping on top of them," joked Sietzema, the breeder at the Littlejohns' farm. "Maybe we have to give him some Viagra," Sietzema added. "He sure drools a lot," I said. "If I had that many women standing in front of me, I'd be drooling too," Sietzema said. After a sow has finished nursing a litter, it takes anywhere from four to seven days for her to get back in heat. Curtiss Littlejohn pointed to a long row of unbred sows standing in stalls. "They're in that transition period right now where it costs money to have them stand there," Littlejohn said bluntly. "Every day that animal stands in that crate costs me $2 per animal." Littlejohn's goal is to have 90 per cent of the sows successfully reinseminated within seven days of weaning. Once the sow is in heat, it's Sietzema's job to inseminate her. He starts with a 60-centimetre-long plastic tube that looks like an oversized Slurpee straw with a foam nozzle at one end. He gently slides the tube between the folds of the sow's vulva until it reaches the cervix. He then gives the tube a gentle tug so that the inner walls of the cervix clamp on. Sietzema then takes a bag of semen and attaches it to free end of the tube. Gravity and the pressure differential between the cervix and the outside combine to suck the milky fluid into the sow's uterus. It takes two bags of semen to complete one breeding and each bag costs about $7. Four weeks after they've been inseminated, the sows get shipped over to the dry sow barn, where they'll spend the next three months until a day or two before their expected delivery date. Halfway through gestation -- about two months in -- Tonny Littlejohn, Curtiss's wife, visits the barn to perform pregnancy testing. She hops into one of the pens with a portable ultrasound machine that hangs by a strap around her neck. It's a cumbersome process that tests her patience and her stamina. She puts a dab of lubricant on the end of the wand then holds it against the sow's belly, near the hind leg. If Littlejohn is lucky, the sow will stand still during the procedure, but more often than not, the pig will be walking -- or running -- around the pen. And even when the sow co-operates, there's a good chance Littlejohn will get jostled around by nearby pigs that are almost four times her weight. Littlejohn watches the monitor of the ultrasound machine to make sure the sows are still carrying a litter. Those that aren't pregnant -- maybe one in 20 -- get a line spray-painted along the ridge of their back. Later, they'll be shipped back to the main barn to be inseminated again. Sietzema, the breeder, isn't happy when he has to spray a line on a sow's back because it's his job to inseminate the sows successfully in the first place. "Makes me look bad," he said with a grin. PIGGY'S MOTHER is identified simply as sow No. 8472. That's the number stamped on the orange plastic tag attached to her left ear. No. 8472 was born Sept. 9, 2005, at Hypor's Bon Accord farm in Ituna, a small town of 780 people about 100 kilometres northeast of Regina. Hypor provides breeding stock to farmers across North America, including the Littlejohns' farm in the hamlet of Glen Morris. Piggy's litter is what's described as an F1 cross, a mix of two lines of pigs. Sow No. 8472 is a purebred Landrace pig, a breed commonly used in Canada because the sows have excellent mothering characteristics. She was inseminated by a breed of boar known as the Large White. Female pigs reach sexual maturity very young and from that point on, a breeding sow's life is a constant cycle of pregnancy, nursing and reinsemination, almost without pause, until she's reached the end of her reproductive usefulness at age four or five. No. 8472 was impregnated for the first time on May 20, 2006, when she was just 253 days old -- about eight and a half months. She gave birth to her first litter on Sept. 12, 2006, and delivered 12 live piglets. By February 2007, she had delivered a second litter of 13 pigs. Her third litter was delivered on July 5 and that time, she produced an impressive 15 live piglets. Piggy and his brothers and sisters were conceived on July 31, just five days after No. 8472 had finished nursing her third litter. For pigs, the gestation period, or length of pregnancy, is about 115 days. That's less than half as long as humans', which is about 266 days. In the case of Piggy's litter, No. 8472 hit the mark spot on, delivering her piglets on the 115th day of her pregnancy. Two days before her expected delivery date, No. 8472 was brought from the dry sow barn back to the nursery wing of the main barn complex. Before she was moved into the farrowing, or birthing, room, she was given a thorough washing and then sprayed with a disinfectant to reduce the chance that any of the newborns would pick up an infection. At the Littlejohns' farm, pregnant sows are housed together in groups of two or three dozen. That's not the norm at most pig farms across the country, but it is the way of the future as the pork industry responds to concerns about animal welfare. Anywhere from 80 to 90 per cent of pregnant sows in North America are kept in gestation stalls, narrow cages of metal bars that only allow the animal to stand up or lie down. "It means that essentially after they reach reproductive maturity at about six or seven months of age, they'll pretty much spend the rest of their lives in stalls," said Tina Widowski, "without the ability to turn around or get exercise." Widowski is a University of Guelph professor who specializes in sow behaviour and animal welfare issues. She noted that sows kept in gestation stalls can develop bone and muscle problems, as well as behavioural problems from being confined. "People also aren't comfortable with the idea that an animal has to spend its whole life unable to turn around. But we also have to understand why stalls were put in there in the first place." Sows have a strict pecking order, so when pigs unfamiliar with one another are mixed together, "they will fight like crazy to develop a dominance hierarchy," said Widowski. "If you have an established group of 20 sows and you add one new one in there, she's probably not going to make it," added Robert Friendship, also a swine research expert at the University of Guelph. "They're going to kill her." There's also the issue of access to food. Sows are fed specific amounts each day, so in a group housing situation, bossy dominant sows may eat more than their share at the expense of meeker submissive sows. It takes the trained eye of a good barn manager to make sure all sows are receiving proper nourishment, and segregate any who aren't. "You can see greater variation in body weight in sows that are group housed," said Widowski. "They may have chronic stress if they aren't getting enough feed during gestation." Ironically, the use of gestation stalls became widespread after the Second World War precisely to improve animal welfare. By keeping the sows housed individually, a farmer could make sure that each animal was getting the proper amount of food and water during pregnancy. Now, the pendulum has swung entirely in the other direction. The European Union has banned gestation stalls after 2013, and now North American producers are following suit. Several U.S. states have outlawed gestation stalls and in January 2007, American giant Smithfield Foods of Virginia announced that it would phase them out at its pig farms over the next 10 years. A week later, Canada's Maple Leaf Foods made the same decision. AT 12:43 P.M., sow No. 8472 delivered the first piglet of her litter, a boy. By the time she finished about four hours later, she had delivered a litter of 12 live piglets, along with three others that were stillborn. There was little fanfare attached to each birth, and virtually no obvious signs given by the mother that a delivery was imminent. For most of the four-hour farrowing period, she lay on her side, occasionally propping her front leg over one of the rails of her stall. Every so often, the sow would roll onto her belly and rhythmically push the metal bar at the side of her stall up and down with her snout. It's an example of the rooting instinct that's hard-wired into pigs, and it's a behaviour commonly seen during birthing. In the wild, an expectant sow would root around to build a nest for her piglets. There were only a few hints that a piglet was about to be delivered -- the sow's breathing rate increased slightly, her haunches began to twitch and her vulva, now bright red, began to contract. Piggy, the eighth in the litter, was born at 2:42, just seconds after his sister had been delivered. In fact, Piggy's sister was still struggling to pull her umbilical cord free from inside her mother when he slipped out. He almost didn't survive beyond the first minute of life. Piggy flopped rather unceremoniously onto the floor of the farrowing crate, covered in a layer of slippery brown mucus. Within seconds, it was obvious there was a problem. Occasionally, the mucus coating will clog a newborn piglet's airways enough that the animal doesn't have the strength to breathe properly. As I looked at Piggy, just a few weak bubbles puffed out of his snout as he slowly suffocated. "I don't think he can breathe," I yelled to Tonny Littlejohn, who was doing some chores one aisle away from me in the farrowing room. She ran over to the stall, stuck her index finger down Piggy's throat and cleared away the plug of mucus. "If I hadn't been here, this would have been one that died," she said as she placed Piggy back in the stall. Seconds later, Piggy and his sister were struggling to stand on their feet, sliding and falling on the slippery grates, legs splayed and unsure of their footing. Within minutes of birth, they were walking unsteadily, still taking the occasional tumble. Every so often, Piggy would stop and shiver. Five minutes after he was born, Piggy was already fighting for one of his mother's nipples. His steps were still awkward and hesitant, and his umbilical cord trailed beneath him, about 50 centimetres long. Within 20 minutes, Piggy was a healthy pink colour, and within half an hour, he was dry and nursing at his mother's side. Pigs are unusual, Widowski explained, because they're born into litters but they're also precocious -- meaning they're well-developed at birth . "There aren't very many creatures that are precocial and litter-bearing," said the Guelph professor. "When you think about dogs and cats and rats, they're blind little things when they're born. They don't hit the ground running." But Piggy wasn't running for long. Most of the rest of his first day was spent sleeping. Sow No. 8472 was just over two years old when she gave birth to Piggy. Including Piggy's litter of 12, she produced a total of 52 piglets in the 18 months from the date she was impregnated for the first time, with an average litter size of 13 live piglets. Both of those numbers are above the goals that pig farmers hope to achieve -- 25 piglets per sow a year and a litter size of 12. More importantly, from the farmer's perspective, only one of the 52 piglets born to No. 8472 didn't survive the nursing period -- a death rate about one-fifth of the industry average of 10 per cent loss by the time of weaning. When I left the barn at the end of the day, Piggy and his brothers and sisters were asleep in a jumbled heap, nuzzled up against their mother's belly. PIG FARMERS like to say they use everything but the oink. Aside from the meat, the skin of pigs is used as leather, vital organs are the source of almost 40 pharmaceutical products, their blood is used in a variety of ways, bone meal becomes fertilizer, unsuitable parts of the carcass become pet food -- even their hair is made into brushes. "What happens to the old sows?" I asked. "Do you like sausages?" Curtiss Littlejohn replied. Once breeding sows reach the end of their reproductive usefulness, they, too, make the final journey down the highway to the slaughterhouse, just like market hogs. Nothing gets wasted in this business, especia
Glory Hole Hentai
Teen Handjob Cumshot
Hanging Noose Porn 3d