Feet don't fail me...

Most everybody that knows me is aware of my obsession fascination with guns. Kinda comes with the territory of me. However, surprisingly, I'm not a hunter - I just enjoy shooting defenseless paper targets - "Take that silhouette man!"

But I'm not at all averted to hunting; it's just that if I'm going to do that, the payoff has to be there - the thrill of the kill is not enough to lure me. Neither is deer meat - it's only a mild "okay" in my book. Now if they had cow hunting? Bow season for chickens? I'm so there.

The only avenue of "mainstream" hunting that I have considered, but have not done yet, is hog hunting. Me likes the pig. My smoker likes the pig even more.

But with stuff like this running around out there...











Something in the genetic pool of hogs went terribly wrong. Maybe he ate his brothers. Maybe he ate his mama. Maybe a hippo was feeling particularly lonely one day and saw a cute little hog. Maybe a hog was feeling particularly lonely one day and saw a cute little hippo. Sleeping.

Gentle reader, I assure you that if the days comes that I am in the woods at the butt-crack of dawn, loaded rifle on my shoulder, scanning the horizon for signs of BBQ-to-come, and I see that...

You will find boots and a warm pile of poo. Manliness be darned.