It’s Saturday evening at Lake
Mary, Mississippi, and my family has congregated around our big-screen TV to
watch LSU play Texas A&M in College Station. It’s a big game: LSU is ranked
Number 8 in the national polls, and the Aggies are rated Number 14.
Neither team has lost a Southeast Conference game.
I am filled with a sense of
well-being. Loved ones are gathered around me. Cold beer is in the
refrigerator, and we have plenty of game-time snacks. I adjust my Lazy Boy
recliner to a comfortable semi-prone position.
All goes well in the first
half, and LSU shows good prospects of beating the insufferable Aggies. Then, my
team falls apart. Three interceptions and three missed field goals attest to a
Tiger meltdown. I prepare myself for a major case of the weekend blues. We’re
running out of beer.
Then providence intervenes. The
game camera affixed to a pecan tree alerts us to two feral hogs rooting about
in our three-acre front yard. All distress about the ballgame vanishes, and two
family members break out their rifles from our gun safe. Armed with a 30.06 and
a 30-30, they creep down to my home’s ground level and start shooting.
Both pigs squeal and head for
the brush. The smaller hog is mortally wounded but manages to travel about 50
yards before succumbing to her wounds. Two generations of family members with
flashlights follow the blood trail and find the interloper. She is stone dead.
What to do with a dead feral
hog? Family members truss it up to one of the steel girders that keep our
living quarters above the annual spring flood waters. Then they field dress
the pig, dividing it into hams, ribs, pork shoulders, and backstrap.
The hog slayers ice down the
meat in a large ice chest and call it a night. We learn that LSU lost to A
&M by a score of 38-23, but nobody cares.
The next morning, I propose we
take all the hog meat to a nearby game processing plant and turn
it into pork chops, sausage, and dinner-size pork loins. I offer to foot the
bill.
We vote, and everyone except me
opts to process the hog on our kitchen counter. By two in the afternoon, our
feral hog is parceled and tucked away in the freezer--about a hundred pounds of
meat.
Feral hogs are a major nuisance in the rural South, where they tear up the landscape and destroy crops. People are allowed to hunt them year-around by day or night.
Everyone I know who has eaten wild-pig meat tells me that the small porkers are delicious. Thus, I ended my weekend feeling good about my family's contribution to feral hog control. And I'm looking forward to eating a pig harvested in my own front yard.
Who cares who won the LSU-Texas A&M game? |