No Hogs Left to Kill


From the October 2014 issue of Tuskers magazine - by Pat Lewing

Once upon a time in a not so distant land, there was an old cowboy and his dogs. His name was Glen, and he wasn't a Rodeo star, but a working cowboy. He trained horses and used his dogs to carve out a meager existence in an ever shrinking wilderness that was giving way to progress and political correctness. After they passed the stock laws and the last of the bad tiger striped F1's were made extinct in the piney woods, Glen and his scatter bred brindle mongrels grew restless and yearned for the good old days of running through the woods and bringing a bad adversary to bay. So Glen started to travel, and switched his mongrel noses from bovine to swine. As he caught and tied hogs, he relocated them to area's far from civilation as possible, and kept a close eye on the population, managing them like a good hog man should. When they would venture off too far, he would take a couple of bay dogs and drive them back. This went on for decades without incident.
Then comes cable tv, hunting shows, and programs featuring some of the most moronic pig hunting drama that the world has ever endured. This is where David comes in. He is a decent kid and loves the woods, too young to remember a time when there were no swine. David endulged in watching these scripted debacles, believing this to be what it takes to be a true hog man. He went out and bought dogs from all over the land. He started to pursue the wild swine, as if they were placed in the woods by some unknown entity that had a fabled stock yard that burst forth swine on the full moon of every month. He began to pursue the number of slain hogs in which their carcasses were only used to add to a number killed since the first. Then their pictures adorn the pages of Facebook along with a caption that the hunter doesn't even know the true meaning of. He posted pictures of piggy sows and piglets torn half in two on the ground before him. As time passed, David noticed the hogs had begun to run a lot farther before baying, and switched from the traditional cur dog to something with a little hound blood running through its veins.
All the rookies sat around listening to David at the country store as he told them it was getting harder to hunt because of the Russian blood that made the hogs run. Glen, overhearing, looked up and told them they were idiots and it was survival of the fittest and simple evolution that had taken place. Glen told them since the only thing left alive to breed was the hogs that were able to out run David's cur dogs. David responded, " How do you know old man?" Glen snapped back, "Because I didn't go to Russia and catch any hogs to stock this land with". David said, "You don't own these hogs old man. They are wild and belong to whoever catches them." Glen responded, "Catching them ain't the problem. You punks are killing them." David's face turned red and he advanced toward Glen but stopped short because he loved living. Glen had put his right hand into his pocket where that yellow handled case rested after a long day of barring bad boar hogs. Glen chuckled as David backed away. He said, "What's the matter boy? Are you afraid to catch and release something that 8 dogs aren't holding?" David left with his tail between his legs. He had been cured out by a feeble old man that was only a couple of weeks from finding his reward at the end of life's struggle. It had been almost a year since Glen had passed that David was posting his last post on Facebook. It read, "Finished Hog Dogs for Sale along with Garmin Tracking System." Reason for selling "NO HOGS LEFT TO KILL."