Copy cat wannabe Hog hunter got his day.
Copy cat wannabe Hog hunter got his day.
As experienced by Willem & Colyn
He is a policeman, still serving, so he had better remain anonymous. Not that being a policeman is a disqualification in any sense. After all, some of my best friends are policemen, men that I really respect.
Anyhow, he fancied himself as somewhat of a brawler. Rough type, if you understand what I mean. The way that he holds that Police Service Nissan Van under his right arm when he patrolled his kingdom says it all. His loud and assertive tone when he was in the company of others, especially females, had a story to tell. His constant reference to the many incidents he has supposed to be involved in, painted a clear picture. His frequent fiddling with his service pistol, which he also carried when off duty [probably against regulations] was quite revealing. He loudly proclaimed the 9 millimeter Luger an instrument of infallible doom.
He frequented the local agricultural shop [co-op] where farmers congregate, and could frequently be seen bending over his right shoulder, in a peculiar sort of way. Until somebody realized that he was actually inspecting the back of his calves. He wore black rugby shorts and socks, with Cat boots whenever he could. He had massive calves and thighs, and was supposed to have been kept out of the provincial squad [tight head, would you believe!] by a jealous officer with connections, whom he had supposedly cuckolded. His transfer to that little satellite police station in the bundu [remote area] also had something to do with that episode.
And yet, for all the awe that he inspired, it somehow was never enough. He seemed to have this uncontrollable urge to go even further, to become even more frightening.
Bigger and meaner. Something between Leroy Brown and Big Bad John.
Perhaps he had the idea that somewhere in that small community there were some misguided people who still did not know that he was supposed to be ‘Rambo’ or ‘Tarzan’ or something. However it was, he was hell bent on proving something to someone. Exactly what and to whom he want to proof it,
I really even now do not know.
Now it so transpired that in the same community there was a man who was well known and truly respected. He was [still is] a humble man without pretences. He preferred the company of his family and a few close friends. People also know him as a dedicated and successful hunter-especially warthogs-with a wide and deep knowledge of firearms and related topics. Farmers trust him completely on their properties, and at any one time he holds the keys to a number of game farms where he is entrusted with the exterminating of vermin [Hogs!].Some of his Commando exploits are not that well known, perhaps it is better that way. Suffice to say that he has seen the elephant.
Certainly not by design of his own, he became known as a man who could control his own fear, and who did not lose his head at inopportune moments. Why, at some stage a very large number of the boys in the community idolized him. It was only natural though, him being the School Headmaster and all.
I suppose it was a long way in coming, the Policeman chasing the reputation of the Headmaster. A reputation which the Headmaster most probably was not fully aware of, and which he certainly did not want. Of course it could have been that the policeman simply disliked teachers, although that would have been odd, seeing that he did not have that much exposure to teachers.
However it was, it was soon clear that he was chasing a reputation.
As it transpired, at around that time the headmaster started making a spear in the small workshop behind his house. He was often seen scrounging around the scrap metal dealer, looking for a piece of spring steel from a Toyota Landcruiser. When he was finished, he started the quest for suitable material for the handle. His intention was to single handedly hunt-in the proper sense of the word-and kill a warthog, armed with nothing but the homemade spear.
Having taken warthog and bush pig with every one of the thirteen calibers that he owned-including handguns-, as well as his compound bow, he was determined not to take another with such weapons until he had taken one with his spear. He was much impressed by one Sasha Siemel, and his forays in the South American jungles, using nothing but a spear to hunt and kill a large number of jaguars.
Of course, the principal kept all of this to himself, but somehow the word leaked out at the local butcher’s, and a series of most unfortunate events were set in motion.
Hearing of the principal’s intentions, our policeman was determined to-as one Buffalo Cody once stated-‘…..put on a little style myself….’ He loudly proclaim his intentions to use his service pistol and an enormous Bowie knife that he had ‘bought in the big city’ to exterminate the exploding warthog population that was driving the maize farmers around the bend. He also made some derogatory remarks about ‘assegai wielders [pig stickers] in general.
He cut a most impressive figure, what with the short sword and his service pistol dangling from his uniform, or his shorts, depending whether he was on duty or not.
Apparently on duty, he was driving along a farm road, on the lookout for criminals, no doubt, when he spotted a huge warthog sow trying frantically to get away through the fence.
Most probably due to the fact that he was almost on top of the pig, she abandoned her efforts and ran a short distance before trying to get through the fence again.
While so occupied, our worthy had in the mean time stopped the police van and had jumped out, and in no time he fired a shot with his service Beretta. The pig apparently dropped dead to the shot.
No doubt reassured in his belief in the devastating potential of that particular caliber, he put the pistol in the van, and proceeds towards the fallen pig, brandishing his knife, ostensibly to bleed the carcass as any hunter worth his salt would tell you.
Exactly why he saw fit to stab the carcass just behind the front leg is not really clear. Rumors that he was faking a knife assault on the seemingly dead pig could be a bit harsh. He may just have tried to bleed the carcass in a manner other than the conventional slitting of the throat.
Whatever it was, the pig did not see the fun in it, and promptly jumped up. This sudden movement caused the knife handle to turn sharply in his hand and he fell forward, badly spraining his wrist. As he grappled for the knife, now imbedded in the pig, his hand closed on the blade. Suddenly he now had a very lively pig on the end of a knife, of which he now held part of the cutting edge! He was severely cut. Being a well trained professional he immediately realized that he was in peril, disarmed and confronted by a very angry opponent that did not seem to be bothered by his reputation.
He turned and ran.
He ran like hell for the van, and the hog gave chase, overhauling him in no time, smashing into the back of his huge rugby calves, ripping out flesh and tendon. Excellent training in the police academy now paid off. As he fell, he remembered to break his fall and roll over; using his momentum he tried to regain his feet. Only problem was that the hog had already turned and was coming back for more. She promptly smashed into his rib cage, ripping out bits of his left upper arm for good measure.
As he lay supine, the pig proceeds to run over him, lengthwise. The sharp totters inflicted nasty wounds all the way up, until the hooves of the departing pig punctured into his left cheek, gouging into his gums.
What is reasonably certain was that the pig was not trying to get to the jugular, as some mischievous folks have suggested. Why the pig broke of the engagement exactly then, is how ever uncertain. Speculations about the bowl content in the police trousers as being the reason for the hog’s retreat are considered to be unfounded by some. Hogs are well known eaters of carrion. Not put off by the vilest stench imaginable. For whatever reason, the pig broke off the action and ran off.
At that point our lawman suddenly becomes calm, realizing that he had been in grave danger of being killed. He deduced that the blood streaming from his various wounds was cause for immediate action.
He overcomes the stifling fear that the pig would return, and become determined not to bleed to death out there next to the road.
He painfully managed to reach the van and drove off to the nearby petrol station. The attendant on duty was astounded by what he saw. ‘Huge hog at Big Dan’s gate. Call the pastor ‘was all he could get out before he collapsed. Why he wanted the pastor to be alerted could not been determined.
Fortunately for him the doctor was in attendance at a nearby roving clinic, and he could be stabilized before he was rushed to hospital, a considerable distance away.
A party of friends and one brother lawman immediately set out and soon identified the site of the skirmish next to the fence, close to the gate of Big Dan’s property. There was quite a bit of blood everywhere. They found the place where the pig had eventually gone through the fence. They then found the enormous Bowie knife, the blade of which was visibly bend.
Using a cell phone to call for back-up, they waited for the owner of the liquor store to arrive, bringing a rifle and a goodly supply of ammunition. Apparently he also brought something against the effects of a sudden onset of nervousness. Suitably armed and fortified against any possible further aggression on the part of the hog, they proceed.
They found the pig, dead. It had a single bullet wound that had penetrated the ribcage and exited without any visible damage. Upon opening up the chest cavity, they discovered that the 115 gr ball had nicked the spinal column, explaining the few moments of ‘dead’. It also penetrated the lungs, causing internal bleeding.
There was also a stab wound, and the heart and some lung tissue were clearly lacerated. Nobody had the gumption to utilize the carcass, so it was given to the pump attendant who had dragged the policeman out of the van earlier.
His recovery was slow and painful, and it was many a month before he ventured out on patrol again in the white police van. Funny thing was that he now kept all the windows shut. Even after the injuries to his face healed, he remained reserved and quiet. And he did not quite regain his old self.
Where- ever folks saw him they made a fuss, and he was requested to tell the story of his amazing, single handed fight with the aggressive hog over and over again.
He could sense the mockery in the eyes of some. And in the eyes of others he could see admiration, exultation even. Still others were full of pity and concern.
And I suppose it all made him thoroughly sick, what with the way he became withdrawn and morose.
If you visit the satellite Police station in that small rural community today, you will still find him there-a changed man.
Who would have thought that a ‘hog’ could unwittingly have such a live changing effect on a brazen self proclaimed ‘hero’?
I know, because I was there!