BOO PIG

The Boo Pig appeared in the summer of 1984. It was a dreadful creature, seven feet long with huge floppy ears, deadly five-inch tusks and red piggy eyes. Dried mud caked its pinkish hide, and it smelled like…a pig. It roamed the Kansas countryside creating fear and havoc wherever it appeared. In the soft month of June, it came to us. We couldn’t keep it away.
Aaron and Jared, five and three, were outside playing in their sandbox. At dusk, Aaron started shouting at me, running toward the kitchen door. “Daddy, Daddy, the Boo Pig, the Boo Pig!” I went out. The sandbox was 40 feet away, and there, staring at Jared sitting on the sand, with lowering head and beady eyes, was, indeed, the Boo Pig. Jared, blond hair gleaming in the twilight, wasn’t paying any attention.
The Boo Pig looked like it wanted to play in the sand box as well, but there clearly wasn’t room. I was horrified. No time to go back inside for the rifle, I ran toward the creature. At that very moment, Pasha One-Fang, the German Shepard, came around the corner of the house, realized she was derelict in her duty as guard dog, and leaped to the attack. The monster swung around to run and Pasha sunk her fang into its’ butt. Boo Pig took off with Pasha slung around in the air but still firmly attached by the fang. The boys were very entertained by this spectacle. After a while the dog came back, but we weren’t done with Boo Pig.
Thinking ahead, I strategically placed the rifle by the kitchen door ready for instant use. Sure enough, a few days later I heard the cry Boo Pig, Boo Pig is in the sandbox. Grabbing the gun I ran out. There was Boo Pig, as hideous as ever, trying to root around in the sand. It was far too big to actually get in. The boys stood shoulder-to-shoulder watching it. Pasha was nowhere to be found, a frequent problem with the guard dog. I chambered a round.
Now, my rifle was a .22, and although it held 17 rounds, I doubted I could make much of an impression on a monster like Boo Pig. Besides, Boo Pig had a home down the road and his master would probably not like the pig coming home riddled with bullets. So, I started firing over his head. The noise and zing of bullets whizzing around its ears was enough to send it away, but only at a reluctant walk. I knew he would be back.
Some days later, I heard a clatter in the middle of the night. The dog didn’t go off so I didn’t get up to investigate. The next morning I went out to the garage to get oats for the horses and dog food. I kept these in metal trash cans by the back door of the garage. I went in. One overhead door was open part way. The trash cans were knocked over, and at least 50 pounds of oats and all the dog food was gone. Nothing else was amiss. A closer inspection revealed bits of dried mud and saliva on the concrete floor. The signature of Boo Pig.

I bought more oats and dog food, a sore trial for me as I was very poor at the time. Each night I made sure the garage doors were down and the bar latches engaged. I kept the rifle handy, and I waited. A few days went by, I guess it takes a few to digest 50 pounds of oats and get hungry again, before a second assault was made. At 5:00 in the morning, the sun just thinking about rising, a tremendous clatter arose from the garage. I woke up with a start and ran downstairs in my underwear and barefoot heading for the back door. Grabbing the barrel of…the kitchen broom…! headed for the garage, dashing through the hedge to the door. Jerking it open and throwing on the lights, I confronted Boo Pig. Evidently, Boo Pig was able to lift up the overhead door with his snout and tusks, popping the latches out of the way.
Oats were scattered on the floor. Boo Pig looked up from his feast startled and angry, but not half as angry as I was. Cursing loudly, I pointed my broom rifle at him fully prepared to mete out death and destruction. Hard to do with a broom. Reversing my hold, I raised the broom to beat Boo Pig with it. It was too much for the monster. He knew I would not shoot him because he knew his own value. But I wasn’t going to shoot him. I was going to beat him with a broom. A scary looking weapon. Furthermore, the human was naked. In his piggy ancestral memory, he knew some humans went to war naked, and those very humans made a career of eating pigs to this very day. In complete terror, he whirled around toward the door, legs slipping out from under him as he scrambled to get away.
Boo Pig had a long memory. He never came back, and that is the end of this story.
In five year old Aaron speak, Boo Pig = Bull Pig. It belonged to my neighbor, John Gerken, who raised a lot of free ranging pigs along with numerous children.