Feral Hog Invasion, a Growing Plague

I have had a love/hate relationship with feral hogs that began back in the early 90’s. I’m not sure when feral hogs, most commonly called wild hogs were first introduced into Oklahoma, but in the late 80’s and early 90’s they really started making themselves known around the area I live in in Johnston co. and our neighboring counties. Since then, I have watched them spread across the state and throughout other states leaving the agency’s responsible for the governing of feral hogs frantically trying to come up with a plan to halt their progress and lessen their destruction of native species.

The feral hogs rapid spread is due in part to over zealous people introducing them to new areas, not realizing the destruction and havoc they would have on native habitat and farming and ranching operations.

Feral hogs come in all shapes, sizes and colors. I have trapped piglets to hogs weighing in excess of 300 lbs. and although rare, not uncommon. Some will have long snouts, big shouldered and small hips while others will have a more domestic look with the short snout and a blocky build. some will have a ridge of hair along their back with long curly hair over the rest of their body while others will be short haired. A lot depends on if they have the russian strain and how long they have been ferral. They also come in about every color imaginable from solid colors in red, black, brown, gray, white or a mixture of them. Hamp colored, pollen china etc. and the piglest are usually a varient of these colors with chimpmunk like stripes.

I started trapping wild hogs for the table fare they provided and they offered another opportunity for hunting as they are a wary, smart, cunning animal and they provide an element of danger. The only real chink in their armor is their eyesight as they smell and hear as well or better than any whitetail. When trapping them I sold a few to those providing hunts behind fenced acres to help with the expense of hog trap material, gas, corn and even a few prizes for a wild game dinner, but most I gave away to those wanting them for meat.

It was fun for a while when they were more or less a novelty and fairly new to the areas I hunted, but over the years as the population rose year after year and the destruction they were causing to native wildlife and the land, my dislike for them also grew. I still enjoy hunting them and have no qualms about eating them and will admit to having some admiration for them and their abilities to adapt and survive, but like the old saying; Too much of a good thing is not always good and they soon became too much of what I once believed was a good thing.

Wild hogs are smart creatures, if you catch one in a trap and it somehow gets out you will have a hard time catching it again, especially in the same trap. I even experiemented with some piglets that were born to a sow we had trapped and kept for a couple of months. She gave birth while in a pen and the piglets could go back and forth through the panels so one day I decided to catch one on the outside of the pen in a live trap designed for raccoon. After catching one of the piglets and then turning it loose I could not catch it again. Even after making a funnel of boards to the trap the piglet would not commit itself to going into the trap. Lesson learned. I also had a sow that kept herself between one of my traps and her pigs, bypassing the trap and bait inside. I have also been humbled by a wild hogs strength. In my early 30’s I was a 220 lb. man, strong and in good physical condition when I found out a 50 lb. hog could move an object that I couldn’t. I can also testify to their agility to climb cattle panels and riverbanks, to jump over 4 foot high obstacles or go through said obstacles. If a wild hog can gets it’s head through something you can pretty much bet the rest of it is going through too. They are strong, built like a wedge and seem to not feel pain in those hard wedge shaped heads. I have had them blow through cattle panels and they will run through the thickest briar patch or brush without so much as slowing down. They will also not hesitate to hit water, swiming with only their nose and eyes visible above the water line. As I said before, their only down fall seems to be their eyesight. Stand still next to a tree or hunker down and they will walk right upon you if the wind is right, but let them get a wiff and they are gone. I have had them wind me from a couple hundred yards away. They also have excellent hearing.

Combine their physical ability, their super senses, their sense of survival, their smarts and their ability to reproduce at only 4 months of age and 3 times in a 12 month span and its no wonder they are hard to keep under control and keep spreading over the land like a plague without an antidote. There is a saying that if a wild hog has 12 piglets that 13 will live. In reality the good thing is the average litter size is between five and eight with only about a thirty percent survival rate, but when you multiply even those low numbers by three they can be overwhelming.

The problems wild hogs cause farming and ranching are many. I have seen where they have gone down rows of newly planted peanuts eating the seeds leaving a furrow as straight as the farmer and his tractor. I have seen where they have straddled corn rows pushing the stalks down where they can get at the ears of corn. I know of one rancher who had to have a dozer level his pasture after being rooted up and having wallows so big they couldn’t use a tractor in it and I shudder to think what they could do to a hog farmer.  Wild hogs also pose other hazzards. On areas I hunt, I have watched the wild hog population rise and the turkey population fall. As the hogs were removed, the turkey population would rise. I believe they (along with several other problems) also factor into the disapperance of the bobwhite quail in our area. They can devistate a creek bank and leave a small clear pond a muddy mess. Wild hogs go through an oak grove scarfing up acorns making it look like a giant vaccume cleaner has been through there and I have watched a big boar run off a nice 10 pt. and little 4 pt. from a red oak tree. I don’t know if there are satistics on wild hog related cost to motor vehicles each year as their are deer, but I bet the cost would be pretty high as I have seen plenty that have been run over on the highways. Wild hogs also carry diseases, the two most common being Pseudo Rabies and Swine Brucellosis. They are usually also infested with hog lice and less common, fleas and ticks. And yes, wild hogs can be a hazzard to those in the woods. Granted, most times a wild hog will run from you, but their are circumstances where they can charge a person such as a sow being protective of piglets or a big boar that feels cornered or is just having a bad day.

A wild hog is a predator. It will eat most anything including grubs, grass tubers, mast, crops, carrion and any animal, bird or reptile it comes across if the opportunity presents itself. A mature wild hog has few if any enemies that are it’s equal in size, strength and temperment.

When trapping wild hogs I would at different times have some held in captivity and even raised a piglet to a boar that would weigh upwards of 400 pounds. He was solid black and pretty scary looking with tusks protuding up to 4 inches (he would usually break them off by accident on the panels if they got longer). He wasn’t mean, just a big o’l pet that liked his back scratched, but could be dangerous with his size and the size of his tusks even if he didn’t mean too. Having wild hogs in captivity allowed me to observe some of their behavior. I learned that different hogs have different personalities and each wild hog is not created equal. Some would tame down fairly quick while others never tamed down. some would seem calm, but would watch every move you made and I believe waiting on their opportunity while others would jump at you every chance they got. Wild hogs have pecking orders and will fight and a wild hog fight can be quite ferious, but once the fight is over and dominance has been declared they will pile up and be mud buddies, seemingly all ill feelings being forgotten. When a boar is fighting and his tail goes limp, he has admitted defeat and it is not always the biggest boar with the bigest tusks that is declared the winner, it is the one who is the meanest and has the most fight in them.

Not only did I observe the wild hogs behaviors, I got to see what they like to eat. A friend who helped me trap the hogs was able to get produce and such from a grocery store and we would feed this to the ones we had in captivity when possible to save corn and keep the costs down. We found that their favorite was avocados, no doubt about it. They would choose avocados over a multitude of other fruits and vegetables including watermelon, cantaloupe, apples, grapes, citris fruits etc. If given peaches they would smash the peach and eat the seed leaving the pulp behind. They also had a fondness for tofu, go figure. Given their choice of various vegatables and fruits, if I tossed the remains from ducks we had harvested the hogs would choose the ducks, ripping them apart by placing their feet on what was left of the carcass and pulling with their teeth. I discovered by accident what seemed to be a treat for them. When we didn’t have enough outdated stuff from the grocery chain I would have to feed them corn. (Wild hogs have the ability to pick up a single kernal of corn with their tongue much like a chicken does with its beak). On one occasion there were several red wasps in the corn looking for a place to hole up because it was turning cold and they couldn’t fly. When I scooped the corn up I also scooped up some of the red wasps. I tossed them into the pen with the corn and the hogs scarfed up the wasps as quick as they found them. To make sure it wasn’t a fluke and that they just didn’t eat them with the corn by accident, the next morning I scooped up several wasps without the corn and tossed them into the pen. The wild hogs went after them like they were candy. I did this on several occasions with the same results with different wild hogs.

I dont believe there is one sure way to control the wild hog population, but I believe several methods combined are the only way to keep them in what might be considered a controllable population. The aerial hunting by helicopter seems to be pretty effective, but is not 100 percent because of the terrain wild hogs occupy and it can be expensive. Trapping is also a good way to rid a piece of land of wild hogs in a significant quanity without breaking the bank although they can eventually become trap shy if caught and get out (and they do know where the door is and will try to open it.) Hunting them wih hounds will catch a few and if pursued relentlessly will drive them out of the vicinity for a while. Traditional methods of hunting them will take a few, but the person who gets more than one shot is lucky and quick unless they are in the open. Spotlighting where leagal is another avenue where a few hogs can be taken, further putting a dent in the population.

All the above methods combined will not eradicate wild hogs, just maybe keep them in check. I believe wild hogs are here to stay unless a disease wipes them out. If you don’t have wild hogs on your land I suggest you count yourself blessed even if they are a challenge and fun to hunt, the trade off of their negative attributes to the land and wildlife doesn’t seem worth the gain in my opinion. If you do have hogs and are not managing them (which means getting rid of eveyone you can because you will never get them all) you will eventually have more than you are able to deal with. I also believe that cooperaton among landowners is a must if wild hogs are to be controlled over a large area. If you have fenced acreage and you want to deter wild hogs from entering I suggest hanging plastic grocery sacks wherever you find a crossing under your fence. I experimented with this method and have had success at deterring them. I realize this may not be feasible over a large land area, but should not be a problem for small areas such as crop fields, small pastures or orchards.

For laws concerning the hunting, removal, transportation and holding of wild hogs contact your states wildlife or natural resources department or your local United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) representative because ferral hogs could be listed as game animals making them fall under the management of the state’s wildlife and conservation laws or they could be regarded as domestic livestock, bringing them in subjection within the states agriculture department and the USDA or all of the agencies may have jurisdiction depending on the location and circumstances. Be sure, be safe and do native wildlife a favor and go kill a wild hog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Randon

I first met him 23 years ago after I watched his bluish head pop out of his mom after the doctor made an incision from one side of her stomach to the other. When I hear people tell how cute baby’s are, I am assuming they have never seen a fresh newborn. I will concede they are precious, but cute, no. I can’t remember a lot of the details after that until his first bowel movement. It was my misfortune that he was in the room with my wife at the time and not in the nursery. I have yet to understand how so much gooey nasty stuff can come from something so small and innocent. His diaper was not only full, but it was overflowing. For some sinister reason, the hospital only provided dry wipes which were not going to do the job of cleaning this little feller up. I kept telling my wife to hit the call button, gagg!, hit the call button, gagg! It’s getting everywhere, gagg! By the time the nurse got in there things were pretty much out of control because when I undone that diaper, there was no containing it’s contents any longer and like a giant lava flow started spilling over. “I thought, who’s been feeding my baby tar”? They did not charge us for the little bed thing he was in so I am assuming it was salvagable and the gooey nasty stuff that flowed everywhere was not caustic. We finally got to bring him home and the first several weeks were just a daze. MG was bed ridden and getting up changing diapers, feeding and trying to console a collicky baby all through the night while working long hours can zap even a young mans strength, but it was all well worth the effort and I can’t ever remember wondering if it was or not, because I new that my sons were a blessing.

The purplish head with the fat all over it turned into one of the cutest curley blond haired little boys anyone ever set eyes on. There were numerous times in his baby and toddler years that we got compliments from strangers on having such a pretty little girl. His brother would have to tell people “that’s my brother not my sister”. It was just too hard to cut that blond hair with the little curly ringlets all through it.

A couple years later I came home and MG met me at the door and explained that while trying to walk, he had fell and hit his mouth on the coffee table almost making his teeth push through his bottom lip. I realize the coffee table had no say in the matter and it wasn’t it’s fault, but it made me feel better to chunk it out the front door into the yard, no more coffee tables for a few years. That accident wasn’t going to happen again.

Potty training. MG has to get pretty much all the credit for this accomplishment although there were a few trying times, one was when I heard a thump and then heard MG exclaim, Randon! I went into the living room to see what was going on and she showed me a little brown ball he had retrieved from his undies and chunked at her, bouncing it off the couch. You’ll figure it out.

There was this conversation I had with him when he as a toddler. Me: What are you eating? Randon: Nanna Pudding. Me: Where did you get it? Randon: Outta me nose. Yep.

Also as a toddler he was not afraid of people and would ask anyone and everyone he came into contact with or while riding in the basket at the grocery store “what’s ur name”? I did find out one evening while hearing him talking to himself out by the shed that he wasn’t fraid of nuttin’ (he had heard his Nanny talking about him) although I did discover he was afraid of a big slap on the side of the shed from a dad he didn’t know was around.

Then came what was probably my most scariest moment up until that day and still remains pretty much at the top of the list. Me and my friend and pastor at the time Stan Miller had just pulled up to the house when MG came running out yelling that something was wrong with Randon. We ran into the house and my son, his eye’s rolled back into his head and turning blue was having a seizure. I can’t remember all the details, if we gave him cpr or not, but I do remember grabbing him up and me and MG rushing him to the hospital and with him in my arms and me praying and asking God not to take him. I remember begging God for a sign that he would be okay and out of the blue an Oklahoma State Trooper was beside us. I pointed to Randon and he got in front of us with lights and sirens and led us to the ER at Ardmore Memorial Hospital. They found that his seizure was caused by fever. He could not tolerate anything over 99 degrees without going into a seizure. It was a blessing when he finally out grew them. No more scary moments, no more frantic cold spong baths, cool baths, stripping of clothes or giving meds to try keep the fever away. No more being on edge, always having to be alert at the slightest rise in his temperature.

Staying home with him when he was sick while in kindergarden I was in my recliner and he was in his mom’s. I had put us a movie in to watch and in the first few moments of the movie a guy had shot an elk on the run with a muzzle loader. Out of the blue, Randon said “he shot the damn thing”. I knew I surely misunderstood him and asked “what did you say”. He looked at me all innocent and said again “he shot the damn thing”. I knew he hadn’t heard the damn word from anyone around our house or from our TV. It seems he had heard it at school. I explained that we didn’t use the word damn because it was considered impolite and that to some it was a vulgar word, he never used it again…..at least not within earshot of me.

As most children, he did not like getting into trouble or at least he didn’t like getting caught. On one such occasion at about four years old, I had gotten onto to him and turned around and was facing a mirror with him behind me. I could see in the mirror he was giving me what for, sticking his tongue out at me. I watched him for a moment and then turned around and caught him. Me: Boy, what are doing sticking that tongue out? Randon: Letting it dry. What are you going to do with a four year old that thinks that quick? Nothing, just let him know he’s not fooling anyone and go tell everyone how quick thinking your son is.

There were other interesting conservations as he was growing up, one of them being when we were coming back from my brother’s house one Christmas eve when he was around five. He was born with a small bladder and I assume it took a few years for it’s growth to catch up with his fluid intake. While we were going home, from out of the blue he chimed in from the back seat declaring that “I guess my balls got bigger”. Thinking I missunderstood, I asked him what he had said. He repeated “I guess my balls got bigger”. I asked him to explain and he replied, well I don’t wet the bed anymore. A five year olds logic!

Or the time around the same age when I had took him hunting with me. I managed to get a few yards ahead of him when he wasn’t paying attention and ducked behind a cedar tree and started grunting. I watched him stop, look around and then put his bb gun to his shoulder and start easing forward. When he got close, I stepped from behind the tree and said “boy what are you doing”, he replied, I fot you was a hog! He was ready for action.

When he was little we tried to teach him and his brother chores and the responsibility of picking up after themselves (it didn’t work, sorry Amanda Meyer). One of the chores involved getting their dirty laundry ready to wash. It seems his laundry basket had a crack on one side and it happened to be the side he had against himself while he only had on his undies. Somehow the laundry basket managed to latch on to his private and wouldn’t let go. He was not a happy camper, I could tell he wasn’t happy by all the screaming and crying. It didn’t help matters when he came home from kindergarten the next day and I had the laundry basket on his bed. I had drawn and cut out a big monster mouth with giant teeth and mean eyes and put it on the basket. We named the basket the weiner monster, we thought it was funnier than he did.

He has always had a tender heart, from the time he cried at his birthday party because he was so over joyed at a bicycle that looked like a motor scooter. He was one to be nice to other children that were made fun of. The tenderness shown kittens and puppies, cats and dogs.

He has always loved the outdoors, and was going with me hunting and fishing when he could barely walk and he would do a lot of back or shoulder riding. I can remember his first squirrel, rabbit, dove, coyote, goose and turkey, but the two most memorable were probably his first ducks and deer. Me and a friend had taken him duck hunting and I had loaded some .410 shells with steel shot. He killed a couple and me and Tony had limited out. The ducks were still falling into the decoys, but those two was all he wanted. I believe he was five years old. He got his first deer at age nine. He seen some at around 900 yards and said there’s hundreds of them (7 or 8 actually I believe). He wanted to shoot, using my scoped 30.30. I said wait. 400 yards, can I shoot? Lets wait. 200 yards, can I shoot? Lets wait. 100 yards, can I shoot? I said go ahead and he dropped his first deer, a six point at 101 yards. I thought he was going to jump out of our 18 ft. ladder stand. I have never seen anyone as excited about their first deer harvest. There have been many successful and memorable deer hunts with him since, such as “the monster deer”, a nice 8 point. The huge buck, 8 pt. with ground shrinkage. His first muzzle loader and last years very nice bow kill, but that first deer will probably remain my favorite.

Everything hasn’t always went his way while in a deer stand. There was the time when I allowed him to sit alone in a ladder stand while I sat with his brother a little ways away in a blind, but still able to keep him in sight. We watched him start to fidget, get up and down and do a lot more fidgiting. When the hunt was over I asked him what he had been doing. He was wearing insulated coveralls with the legs stuffed down in rubber boots and it seems his zipper had gotten stuck and he was needing to pee. I didn’t need to ask what happened as I could hear the squish, squish, squish in his rubber boot every step he took. He wanted to hurry and get home because his foot was getting cold. Then there was the time we got several stings from wasps that were hiding in a cedar tree while we were scouting and fixing deer stands (see Wasp Fightin’). That ended our fun for the day, we went home, doctored up and nursed our wounds.

He played ball sports, all of which me and his mom enjoyed watching him play and we loved being involved with helping the team, whether it be making koolaid for t-ball practice or making a few dozen sandwiches for football game night. In t-ball he would most generally hit home runs because he could whack the ball pretty good. It’s a good thing because he wasn’t known for speed. He played basket ball in his grade school years and never got a foul called on him even with me offering a ten dollar reward if he would get just one. I believe his eighth grade year they had one of the best 7th & 8th grade teams Mannsville had ever had. Football came his junior year in high school and it was the highlight of our night when #73 got to get on the field. He wasn’t the roughest, fastest or most atheletic, but his stats at 6’4 and hovering close to 200lbs. probably gave other teams a reason to pause when looking over the roster.

We thought he was going to be short and take after his maternal grandpa and have short legs, “boy was we ever wrong”!

There was graduation, a couple years of college, many classes and schooling in various fire training, graduating from EMS school and most recently Paramedic school. He has accomplished quite a bit education wise and I look forward to more accomplishments because I believe he can accomplish whatever his heart desires.

Every year, every chapter has brought new joy, new adventure, new challenges. I loved the sweet innocent years when Dad was his hero and he would “whisker” me or sleep on my chest, but I have also enjoyed all the other years and would not trade the experiences of one for another.

As a young man I always dreamed of having sons to hunt, fish, trap and just explore the outdoors and share adventures with and when fatherhood came along and I was realizing my dreams, I had grandure dreams of being my sons best friend, not realizing that being a father would take presidence. The responsibility of being a father, of comforting, teaching and reprimanding would come first. This Saturday, Oct 4th 2014 he will have his best friend for life and I am proud of the girl he has chosen to be his wife and I am proud of him for his choice. As with any changes in their childrens lives, parents worry, fret, and want what is best for them. We want them to learn from our mistakes because we have been there and done that. In reality, they may glean a little from our advice and mistakes, but they will have to learn on their own as we did and our parents before us and their parents before them. He is starting a new chapter in his life, a chapter where God will still be in control…… along with the wife:) I hope it is a long, healthy, prosperous, joyful and fruitful life together.

Our children, no matter how much we tell them, give them, do for them, show affection or other wise try to show them our love, they will never fully understand it’s depth and the pull on a parents heart until they have children of their own.

Thank you son for being a good kid and growing up into a fine and respectable young man.

Randon, there is no one else that knows you like your dad does, mom says it is because we are so much alike…….bless Amanda’s heart:) I actually see traits of both of us and your grandparents too, but truly believe you are your own man destined to make a mark in this world.

MOM and I LOVE YOU RANDON!

 

Falling and Lessons in Gravity

I have, by pure accident, unfortunately become quite the authority on falling as I have been a partaker in what seems an inordinate amount and in doing so, I have also familarized myself with gravity as it seems where one is, the other is close at hand.

If given the choice, I would rather be a witness to a fall and the effects of gravity rather than a partaker in the activity.

Perhaps the worse fall a person can have is when they are jilted by the opposite sex and the best fall is when one falls in love. Of course it is better if two fall in love rather than one so as not to be the jilted party.

There are a few things I have learned about falling and how to avoid it. One is get married. This solves the jilted falls. Another is to never trust a limb when climbing a tree. It may seem that trees are just standing around seemingly minding their own business looking pretty and providing shade when in reality they have a very sinister side. What they are really doing is waiting. They are waiting on an unsuspecting climber of trees, a group I have belonged too since my earliest years. They wait until the climber of trees is at a good height and lure him or her (climbers of trees is open to all genders) into a state of comfort and tricking them into putting their trust in a single limb to support their weight. As soon as this confidence is obtained, then snap! no more limb, just gravity and gravity will not support a climber of trees. Before I learned of a trees sinister side (and it took a few lessons) I was a trusting soul. While climbing one of the afore mentioned sinister trees I had an unexpected date with gravity which involved a rapid decent from said sinister tree. I was fortunate that a limb caught me and broke my fall. I was unfortunate that the same limb tried to perform a prostate examine on me without what I assumed to be the minimal standard medical equipment of a rubber glove, vaseline and a degree from an accredited medical school. I found myself lying on the ground in pain, puckered up tighter than a new prison inmate, my feet making laps around me in circles while excruciating pain emitted from points south. I got over it.

There are times when we fall or see someone else fall that our instincts take over. As an example, I observed a co-worker fall off a ladder and land in some hedges. My mind immediately told me to run over and check on him and ask the universal question that is asked of all who fall (even the jilted) “are you alright?”. He was on his back with his legs sticking up in the air and in somewhat of a predictiment. When I realized he was okay, but was wedged and couldn’t move to get out of the hedge my  instincts took over and I immediately ran to my pickup and got a camera. Without good instincts I would never have remembered the camera. Thank God for instincts.

Like I said earlier, I have participated in numerous falls through the years. One of the most memorable was in the fall (no pun intended) of 2011. For a reason I have yet been unable to explain I fell off a roof while painting a chimney. I was on the roof and then I wasn’t. There seemed to be some time lasp inbetween was and wasn’t because I distinctly remember hearing an arrrrggggg! and I am confident in saying it was mine. My oldest son who wittnessed the fall ran over and asked that universal question I spoke of earlier. “Are you alright”? My immediate response was “no”. I wasn’t sure just how not alright I wasn’t, but figured alright was not the correct answer. Ken, a friend working for me came running from the other side of the house wanting to call an ambulance. My first thought was how expensive ambulance rides have become and had the presence of mind to tell him no. I wasn’t much on moving at that moment and was content laying their and mumbling the words. Ken kept wanting to dial 911 so I gave him a little hope by saying “not yet”. He then proceeded to try to get me to move this and to move that when all I wanted to do was lay there and gather my senses which were scattered in little bitty peices lying all around me, having been knocked loose by the fall. I feared I would never get them all gathered back up and put in order in a usable condition, leaving me with the only option of making a living as being a politician. I guess it was a good thing, Ken badgering me to move this or to move that because it gave me the little extra push I needed, (the need to get up and choke him to stop the badgering). Ken was in a fairly good frantic as frantics go and it was understandable. It was payday and I had yet to write out the checks, with the weekend at hand and bills to pay it would make anybody frantic seeing your employeer lying on the ground wondering if he would ever get back up, at least long enough to write a check. To his credit, he was truly worried and sincerly thought I was a goner, he didn’t understand the genes from both parents flowing through this body. I eventually worked my way to my knees where I had Ken take a water hose and spray the dirt off the side of my head and I took a few swigs to get the grit out of my mouth and got to my feet. I managed to hobble to my pickup and left Ken and Jarron with the task of cleaning up the mess of spilled paint my raipd decent had caused and drove my woozy self home which I later realized was not a wise thing to do as one should not drive while woozy. As I stepped through the door at home my wife, always the observant one immediately knew something was wrong. I knew she knew something was wrong when she said “what’s wrong”? I guess it was intuition on her part, it was just something she could sense. I asked her why do you think anything is wrong? She said because you don’t usually come home in late morning without a shirt, limping, moaning, with a frazzled, dazed and confused look with wet hair. Again, intuition, because that is my signature look with the exception of wet hair and no shirt. I think I got over it.

Only a few months had passed and I was pretty much over the aformentioned fall when gravity tugged again. After hanging sheetrock on a nine foot ceiling with the help of a sheetrock jack I decided to remove the sheet rock holding arms and get them out of the way before I finished screwing up the sheetrock. Bad move. What is left when you remove the arms is a triangle stem of metal that when fell upon will leave the exact imprint upon one’s ribs. I hope to one day get over it.

Fortunately I have not always been the participant of falling and the effects of gravity, there have been times when I was the observer, which brings me to the, for now, last escapade.

Some people fall with grace, dignity and with no show of emotion. They have no consideraton for those watching them fall. My friend Tony is not one of these. He is one of the more thoughtful, putting antics into his fall, although a few more vocals would have enhanced his fall tremendously. We had been hunting hogs that were destroying a friends peanut crop. It was in the wee hours of early morning before daylight. We had split up with Tony situating himself on the river bank while I went a little farther on down the river and done the same, hoping to catch the hogs crossing the river in the moonlight. As I made my way down the river bank, I stumbled upon, but not into a fairly deep ravine, feeling my way I slid down the ravine and clawed my way up the other side, also finding a place to situate myself to wait on the hogs. It is always good to situate one’s self in a spot rather than just ploping down, anybody can “plop”down, but it takes skill to situate. Unfortunately, the hogs out flanked us . Don’t let looks fool you, wild hogs are smart critters. (If they had a pocket it would have a protector in it filled with various ink pens.) By working my way along the edge of the ravine I was able to get back to the road on which we had parked. Un-be-knownst to me, Tony was working himself to where he thought I was. From the road I had a decent view of the ravine and a little light since I was more in the open and the road bed was a little elevated. I looked down the ravine in time to see Tony’s feet, then his head, then his feet again. A moment later I heard a loud “ooof” that usually precedes the pull of gravity. I immediately made my way to Tony and found him lying motionless on his back in the bottom of the ravine, so, you guessed it,  I asked, are you alright? I heard a slight grunt. In the moments before the grunt I was wondering how I was going to carry a two hundred and forty pound man out of the ravine, but I considered the grunt a good sign and it gave me and my back some hope. Slowly Tony started moving various parts of his body and moaning. I had seen this same sequence in a few movies, but it was uaually a scaintly clad girl under some kimd of spell or drug influence lying on a type of alter. I don’t think Tony would ever get the part. A scaintly clad fat man moaning on an alter just wouldn”t have the same effect for movie goers and no sensible evil person would sacrafice anyone that would make that big of a mess to clean up. I think he got over it.

Gravity, it has it’s down side.

 

 

Chickin’ Huntin’

Through the years I have done a lot of hunting, all for local game. I never had the opportunity to go on any type of exotic hunt, unless you count the chicken hunt as an exotic hunt. The chicken hunt opportunity came about when a friend’s dad decided that a flock of chickens that had gone over to the wild side were wreaking too much havoc around their place. I’m not sure what kind of havoc the chickens were wreaking, but I think it had something to do with my friend’s dads garden. He asked us if we would be interested in hunting and dispensing with them, the limit being “all of them”. Well, anyone that has ever had young teenagers that love to hunt most anything that walks, crawls or flies knows how they would jump at an opportunity like this, thus the question mark at the end of his sentence was left dangling in midair as we rushed to get our shotguns and gather what shells a couple poor young teenagers could muster up. Now, you might be thinking “what kind of challenge could a chicken be to hunt”? You have to realize these were not your everyday barnyard lay an egg a day hens or proud strutting roosters. These chickens gave a new meaning to the term “free ranging”. They went where they darn well pleased! These were the types of chickens that give poultry a fowl name, the type that could be found hanging out in an alley causing trouble, their scarred combs cocked sideways, drinking cheap whisky and wearing tattoo’s (before tattoos became vogue). The hens wreaking of loud perfume and the roosters filing their spurs and probably concealing switch blades and blackjacks under their wings. They would make dogs whimper and cats run for cover. It just wasn’t a safe atmosphere when they were ganged up and hanging around clucking derogatory remarks at whomever and whatever passed their way. I don’t know what kind of chickens they were, but after hunting them I would call them the wild camoflauge screaming attacking kind, that may not pass for a scientific name, but it certaintly describes them. These chickens had the explosiveness of bobwhite quail, the evasiveness of chuckar, the speed of pheasants and the demeanor of hyenas with their laugh being a little deeper and more sinister. Their habitat consisted of gullies and small canyons overgrown with honey suckle, green brier, red elm saplings and mature trees covered in poison ivy thrown in for good measure.

Armed, apprehensive and somewhat leery we started our quest to rid the neighborhood of the menace that had been plaguing it. (If three houses on a dead end street in the country constitutes a neighborhood.) It didn’t take us long to locate their main hideout, an alley strewn with liquor and beer bottles, cigaretes butts, old feed sacks and such. I don’t know what I though the outcome would be when we found them. Maybe I was hoping for a surrender where we might capture them and take them to some farm to put in lockdown under armed guard with 24 hour survellience. I guess they were beyond rehabilitation because when confronted it was obvious by their actions that capture was not an option and that this was a fight to the finish. I don’t remember who made that first fatal move, but for the next few hours it was pure turmoil with the smell of gun smoke in the air, feathers flying all around, the loud screeching. (You would screech too if you had a gang of chickens with switch blades and blackjacks coming at you.)

When all was said and done, our mission was a success. Aside from a few scratches, bruises and out breaks of poision ivy over various parts of our bodies we came away fairly unscathed considering the quarry we were up against. I believe it could be called a successful hunt. I am not sure of our total harvest or if we “limited out” that day, but the neighborhood became a safer place for children and pets.

I have never had the opportunity to go chickin’ huntin’ again, but if there is anyone out there with rogue poultry beyond rehabilitation that is bullying and generally making life miserable for everyone and everything one the farm or in the neighborhood and you need chicken management from someone with proven chickin’ huntin’ experience to help get them under control or maybe help set up some guided chicken hunts, just let me know. My reflexes and eyes are not what they once were, but I still have my nerves and believe I can hold my own with a chicken…….if I am armed with a shotgun.