Nightmares Of The Hoggish Kind
February 28, 2014
Well, by this point on a lovely Friday, I had hoped to be heading up to Mississippi to join my friend Rex Howell and the rest of the Christmas Place gang on another big hog hunt. Last year’s event was definitely a riot, even though Rex made sure to put out plenty of HogbeGone™ around my stands. I figured I could overcome those odds with a little perseverance (aka stubborn, bullheadedness) this season.
But then he had to go and tell me about the newest denizen of the Famous Christmas Place… the vicious hogapotamus!
Now there aren’t many things in the woods that scare me. Mr. No-Shoulders barely gives me pause. Bears and catamounts don’t even rate a shudder. The only shivers induced by the howl of a wolf pack are shivers of excitement. Even Sasquatch hardly makes me look over my shoulder (except on dense, foggy mornings in the bowels of Kokopelli Valley… but that’s a different tale). I’ve spent days alone in the deepest woods and darkest swamps without the slightest inkling of fear.
But that was before I heard about the hogapotamus.
Everyone knows you don’t mess around with this beast. In his native habitat, the Great Dismal Swamp that lies along the North Carolina/Virginia line, the hogapotamus is known to be a wicked, bloodthirsty killer. No one is safe in his presence, neither man nor beast (nor peanuts, nor soybeans, nor sweet potatoes…).
Unlike other predators, he doesn’t hunt by stealth. Instead, he crashes through the brush like a bulldozer, roaring his terrible roar and rolling his terrible eyes and gnashing his terrible teeth as all living things, furred, finned, or feathered, flee ahead of him in abject terror. Sooner or later, some pitiful creature will succumb to paroxysms of horror and fall twitching and trembling in his path. Then the hogapotamus will feast.
The method used by the beast to kill and consume his prey is too grisly to share on a family-oriented website. Suffice to say that trained biologists have fainted away merely at the site of a hogapotamus kill. No one who has witnessed the actual event has survived to tell the tale, except for one poor game warden who is still confined to the madhouse in an extreme, state of catatonia.
I’d always felt that by moving all the way across the country from North Carolina, I might have finally escaped the horrific hold this monster held over my tiny mind. Here in Texas, surrounded by heavily armed neighbors and scorpions, I thought I was finally safe. My nightmares abated, and I felt free to once again roam the woods and wastes with rifle in hand and a carefree song in my head. But now… now to hear that this thing is as close as Mississippi… it’s all too much.
So I’ve cancelled my visit to the Famous Christmas Place. I’m chicken. I admit it.
If Rex and the gang survive the weekend, I’ll be looking forward to tales of derring-do and adventure… as well as any photos of regular ol’ hawgs. I’m sure they’ll kill a pile, since Rex won’t feel the need to chase them out of the county before I arrive.