It is pitch dark and the middle of the night when we see a truck with Hungarian plates passing us on the highway. All we can make out is that there are cattle on board. Because the transport is being carried out by two drivers, we know it must be a long-distance journey, meaning it lasts more than 8 hours.
When the drivers stop for a short break, we try to approach them, hoping to learn more about the animals and to get a clearer look at how they are doing. But the drivers ignore us; they don’t want to talk. We try to catch a glimpse of the animals, but the flaps of the truck are half closed, likely to protect them from moisture and cold. We can see small to medium-sized cattle. Doris is lying on the floor and, fortunately, is not being trampled by the others – something that often happens when animals are crowded together.
The floor is dirty, no bedding is visible, and the metal beneath shines through the mud of urine and feces. Doris’s entire belly is covered in filth, and the two companions standing beside her also have wet, dirty bellies and hindquarters. It can’t be a pleasant feeling – and it would take so little to avoid such discomfort, by putting down a nice layer of straw, which in winter cushions the cold and absorbs dirt.
We decide to stay with the animals, hoping we might get another chance to see them more clearly. But until they reach their destination, that chance never comes. To our surprise, the truck heads to a slaughterhouse that has been reported in the past – and recently – by various organisations, including Animals' Angels. These reports concerned severe abuse and cruelty, but thanks to legal loopholes, this slaughterhouse continues to operate.
This is one of those cases that leaves us with a bitter aftertaste. It is a sad example of a justice system that fails to serve its purpose: justice itself.
