by Howie G. Severino

NEARLY all pigs in captivity today were born to be killed. And then there are those like Hyphor 4. He's that rare pig raised in (relative) luxury, treated like a pet, and fed for muscle tone, not for fattening and eventual slaughter.

	Hyphor 4 shows off his prized testicles.

Ka Pilo, his owner, boasts of Hyphor 4's almost perfect proportions: the straight, firm legs and the equal size of the testicles - or as Ka Pilo lovingly describes them, "parang monay," just like the local fat-cheeked bread.

But the only thing that lies between Hyphor 4's charmed life and the slaughterhouse really is his job performance. This prized specimen is kept alive purely for his semen and his ability to impregnate female pigs. He's a stud, a barako.

We accompanied him and his handlers one typical day as Hyphor 4 made yet another contribution to the creation of pork, one of Philippine agriculture's most dependable growth industries and the star performer of the livestock trade. Following Hyphor 4 around, however, became not only an exposure to a form of animal rape, but also a tour of the places that constitute the backyard pig industry. Neither was all that pleasant.

Known to deplete and despoil local water supplies, piggeries — already notorious for their offensive bouquet — can doom a pristine place. Yet despite widespread complaints from people living within smelling and hearing distance, piggeries have hardly been the object of protest by nongovernmental organizations or included in any kind of environmental blueprint in the Philippines.

About 80 percent of the country's more than 11 million domesticated pigs are raised in backyard piggeries. Many of these small and medium-scale businesses are located in congested neighborhoods where the canals and other waterways reek with pig feces. Residents inevitably complain of the overpowering stink coming from their neighbors' yards.

Like any business that produces harmful waste by-products and locates itself in residential areas, the hog industry has sparked conflicts with communities. But it also differs from other industries because it is so dispersed, affecting so many more neighborhoods.

Raising even one pig can be profitable. Pigs don't need much space, feed on food leftovers, and will not bite the kids. In a way, it is a perfect backyard livelihood for families trying to make ends meet — just don't ask their neighbors what they think.

Hog raisers rarely care about how these creatures' enormous amount of waste is disposed. Usually, it goes into the nearest waterway, which can spread the smell and pollution many kilometers away. And the pigs themselves are often not washed regularly even after wallowing in their own crap in cramped pens.

Surprisingly enough, seasoned raisers say pigs prefer to be clean and love a good bath. Wild pigs are no filthier than other mammals found in forests. On top of this, pigs are friendly creatures (unless provoked). These animals really don't deserve their nasty reputation. In common language, they are often used to describe someone who is messy or downright disgusting, as in "Ang baboy mo (You're such a pig)!" and "Swine!"

Chances are the typical dirty pig is more a reflection of its neglectful owner. In truth, this animal species has been given a bad rap because of a notorious human shortcoming: people tend to ruin any environment they use or occupy.

Take the findings of a 2001 study on the environmental impact of piggeries on the town of Majayjay in Laguna, a place long known for the quality lambanog (liquor distilled from sugarcane) made with its mountain spring water. In the last several years, Majayjay has seen the proliferation of backyard piggeries. A team of researchers from the University of the Philippines, Los Baños found that the town's rivers, "which once provided drinking and bathing water, fish and recreation, now were polluted, cloudy and malodorous."

Pollution regulations of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) require waste treatment facilities for commercial pig farms. But backyard operations are hardly regulated, and thus tend to dump waste directly into waterways.

Residents living around the piggeries also complained to the researchers about the growing incidence of diarrhea, influenza and skin allergies, all of which were blamed on the noisy livestock nearby.

The researchers pointed out the difficulty of imposing control measures, such as simple biogas digesters that convert feces into fuel, since the costs could be too heavy for the backyard operators to bear.

What the study didn't attempt to do was measure the economic costs of ruining the local waters (the source of Majayjay's heady brew), in essence sacrificing a public resource from which many benefit in exchange for the private profits of unregulated small-scale enterprises.

ON THE day we trailed behind the cloven hooves of Hyphor 4, his first date lived in an upscale neighborhood. But it was a backyard piggery nonetheless.

	Pig farms dispose of their wastes in rivers and streams.

Before he left his own home across town, Hyphor 4 was given a quick bath. Unlike the noisy, unhappy pigs one often sees headed for slaughter in congested trucks, Hyphor 4 was then gently transported in a trailer of his own pulled by an owner-jeep from where Ka Pilo watched over him. Attendants splashed water on Hyphor 4 along the way to keep him cool and comfortable. They wanted their ward in a pleasant mood.

Their first stop was a spacious upper-middle-class house in Pasig. The spry old lady who owned it was busy entertaining some guests, so she just pointed Ka Pilo and his team to the back of the house where they led their barako with a leash. The backyard was a complex of pigpens, one of which was occupied by Assunta, Hyphor 4's mate-to-be. Most of the female pigs there were similarly named after other "bold" (read: sexy) film stars, among them, Rosanna, Joyce, and Anjanette.

As soon as Hyphor 4 was led into Assunta's pen, the much smaller female ran into a corner. "Virgin pa 'yan," one of the maintenance men declared with a smile. Assunta turned out to be eight months old, just the age when a pig can start bearing offspring. Other men, including a buyer or two, gathered around the coming spectacle.

The squealing, nervous Assunta was obviously not in the mood. But having already contracted a stud's services, her handlers would have none of this shyness. They tied her head to one of the bars on the pen's gate as others held her bottom half still. As Assunta screamed to the high heavens, as if she herself were about to be slaughtered, Hyphor 4 did what he was kept alive to do. In a minute he was done and enroute to his next appointment.

The dynamism of the country's swine industry — and the ready availability of pork in the market — is dependent on many such acts every day. Much of this industry's growth is in the backyard piggeries like the one Hyphor 4 and his handlers visited.