Birthday Hogs

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Today is my 60th Birthday. And how did I celebrate? Why going hog hunting of
course. And boy, what a day. Three hogs. The best one day count so far.



I arrived at the knew farm for the second day in a row (see pictures). As I pulled
into the driveway I spotted three young ones near the edge of the weeds on the
right. Two scurried for cover. The unlucky one stayed around only to feel the
smack of at 34 caliber jacketed hollow point. Total elapsed time, five minutes. A
sixty-five yard shot, but no visible wounds. My third miraculous kill. Since I
don't do autopsies, I can't explain why there's no evidence of a hit. Dead is dead.
See the picture.

Number two wandered out into the yard, this one at ninety yards. Total elapsed
time, ten minutes. That was too easy. Now what?

I waited for at least twenty minutes but the third little piggy never showed. So I
took a walk through the barn to the far end where I could get a look through a
window at the golf course that is only forty yards away. Yesterday's peek had me
dreaming about the darn things. I pulled up the glasses and saw three hogs right at
one hundred yards and at least two more all the way out to two hundred, all nibbling
away in the out of bounds section of one of the fairways. You won't believe the
size of these guys. They have rolls of fat hanging all over them. They are huge
and ever so enticing. So I walked outside, along the back of the barn to where I
could get a better look. The three hogs I spotted from the barn saw me and
scrambled for their holes along the edge of the grass, into the some taller grass.
But they stopped short of doing their disappearing act and just hung out on their
dirt mounts like prairie dogs. One of them was a monster. That was it. I'd had
enough!

It was "Simply Irresistible". I drove the truck to the backside of the barn to a
spot where I could see through an opening in the trees. They were still there, on
their dirt mounds. I picked the biggest one, made sure I was not firing toward the
fairway, carefully scanned the entire area for any golfers, set the gun up on the
partially rolled up window and then let fly with a shot that sounded like a fifty
cal. The bruiser dropped out of site. I expected to be set upon any moment by
hoards of golfers, cops, bystanders, you name it, but luck was on my side. No one
around. Of course I'm sure everyone for miles heard the darn shot. I'll bet some
old lady called the cops about a sniper on the roof of the nearby hotel. So I
backed the truck up to the front of the barn, ditched the Thompson Center and the
glasses and walked to a spot in the barbed wire fence where I could easily cross to
and retrieve my prize. I was pretty confident I hit him good, but there's always
the chance that you jerked the trigger and missed.

Unfortunately, by this time there were four golfers on the green. I had to wait
what seemed like an eternity for them to leave. I hustled out to the hole and there
he was, right in the entrance where I figured he would be. I reached down and
almost wrenched my back pulling him up. Huge!! The picture doesn't do him justice.
The shot traveled right across his shoulders about an inch or so deep. I tried to
hustle back to the barn, but got busted by two golfers who drove up to the green. I
don't know if they figured out what I was up to, so I just kept truckin. Dropped
the pig by the truck and took the pic.

Now it was time to retrieve the first two victims, take their obligatory photos and
hustle home for din din while ditching the bodies along the way. What a day!

Doug from NJ