Showtime is over. I have been judged, paraded, prodded, and inspected intently. They looked at my coat, then at my feet. They checked the cleanliness of my hair and that my rump was square. Remarks were made, and then I received my just reward: Best in Show, for now at least, until I am past my prime.

A good standard of ancestors from decades ago has been passed down the line. We are bred for our qualities and inbred for our faults, emphasised, highlighted, manipulated, and moulded into what is on show today. Domestic livestock, once wild, can no longer return to nature, too dependent on the lifestyle. Adapted from the source, unrecognisable from what has gone before.

We are all now super meat, uninspired with life. Controlling genetically altered food sources has long been common practice. A commodity of humanity, and it feels as though something is wrong. I am Best in Show, at the top of my game, and living my best life.