Quelle joie!! nous allons chez YANNICK NARDINI, they cheer: "What joy! We are going to the butcher!"
Make no mistake: the man's joy is their joy, their fondest wish to follow their master even to the bitterest end. What you are seeing is pride—those snouts up in the air! Pride at being the viande de 1er choix (the "first choice meat").
Note also that the master they follow is not a farmer. That could almost make sense. We can easily imagine at least the bond that might have formed between the animals and their longtime tender. (The following-to-the-death part would still be too much to swallow, however.) But they do not traipse along behind the farmer—it is the butcher whose presence they find intoxicating! (Yes, the butcher: See his apron? See the knife slung below his belt?) The butcher, the very man who will soon kill them! That is the man they are in thrall to!
How they spring! How they trot! How the cow's bell rings out the happy news: Today we are to be butchered! Such a pure distillation this is of suicidefoodism's grotesque ethic! The animals do not live in dumb incomprehension. They do not graciously submit to a fate meted out by their human overlords. These more plausible depictions run counter to the sickness at the heart of suicidefoodism. The animals must caper to their death, ecstatic—proud—for the chance to sacrifice themselves. This is not merely their lot. It is their joy.
(Thanks to Dr. Anonymous Commenter for the referral.)