While pursuing a PhD, I had need of "parts" for some of my "experiments."

The Vets at the school's vivarium were very helpful, allowing my colleagues and I access to the pigs post-surgery practicals, so we would swoop in, armed with scalpels, hacksaws, and assorted powertools to obtain our specimens.

If you've never looked at a pig's trotter, it is essentially four "fingers" with a small hoof at the end of each, arranged somewhat in a square pattern (hence, cloven-hoof, i.e., a single hoof cleaved in four). As I was removing the hind-limb of one of the "patients" with the aid of a scalpel, I held the leg by the trotter, and my left index finger slipped between the front and rear pair of fingers.

Freshly dead muscles have a... disconcerting behavior when surgical steel is introduced into their bellies, namely, they contract in a fluttery, bag-of-worms way, much like the feeling in your eyelid as it twitches. I was working my scalpel in toward the hip joint to extricate the leg (and the precious, precious ligaments inside), and I must have tickled just the right spot, because the muscles began contracting... and the fingers of the trotter clamped down on my hand.

The moment it happened, I knew in my head exactly what was going on. That critter was dead (hell, its chest cavity was entirely empty!), and the muscles were contracting one last time, but, my body knew the truth; that zombie beast was after my soul!

I had to take a break to unpucker before I finished that day's harvest, I assure you.