Hunting Season

Dad likes to watch those hunting shows that come on tv late at night. You probably know the ones. They aren’t politically correct. They actually show coyotes and hogs being killed. Dad says those critters are pests and need to be done away with because they are taking over farmland around our area. The grand-boy watches the shows, too, when he comes out on weekends. I pretend to be asleep but I hear everything that goes on and, even though its hard to believe, some of those dogs the hunters employ do sound like they are enjoying their jobs.

So far, Dad and the grand-boy have restricted their own hunting trips to taking taking one of those safe traps out the woods behind our house and catching the occasional possum or raccoon. They take pictures of the varmints and then release them back into the bushes. It’s pure torture for me and Buddy and Maggie to watch. We just can’t figure out why Dad doesn’t bring the trap into our yard and let us chase those creatures like we were bred to do! It would add a lot of fun to the hunting trip for the grand-boy and though I hate to admit it, the raccoons usually get away from us anyway. Possums, now… we’ve caught and killed our fair share of possums. Sorry, Peta.

Anyway, Dad has known for a long time that there are wild pigs and coyotes close to our place. We’ve told him! We can smell them late at night, rooting around in the old Christmas tree farm that adjoins our property. They haven’t come into our woods yet, but they are getting closer.

So, this morning Dad goes to see his doctor for a check-up and while he’s there, he spies the two-legged who owns the land next to us. They start talking about the wild hogs over there. Neighbor says at least 30 of them!

Next thing Mom knows, Dad is sending her a text message that he has been given permission to hunt the wild hogs over there.

Now, I may look goofy in my picture but I am quite a brilliant ADT. (Maggie is the challenged one of our pack. Cute and affectionate but D-U-M-B.) I know that there are more hog hunters who employ catch and bay dogs than there are those who don’t. And I have heard, during those late night, politically incorrect tv shows, about dogs getting attacked and tusked and bored by p****d off pigs. I have to wonder, what exactly does Dad have in mind?

I think I might have hurt my right front leg jumping off the sofa this morning. It’s been sore all morning and, yes, as I think about it, I have to say that my leg is so painful it’s making me limp. A limping dog is no use in a hog hunt, right?

RIGHT????

AAARRROOOOOOOO!