There is a killer hog in the vicinity of Terre Rouge Creek, which ain't that far from my residence here in SW AR. I've heard all kind of stories about him, a killer, who has mangled many dogs as many hunters have tried to bring him to bay. This has gone on for years, and just about everbody hunting in the area has lost dogs to this beast. He is said to stand as tall as a big man's waist, with black hair, like a witch's heart. Huge white ivories, sharp like razor blades and pointed like stieletos.

I got a call last night and was told by a friend that he and 7 others were going to mass up their dogs and try to bring and end to this devil of a hog. I didn't really want to go, my dogo is still too young to hunt, and my little catahoula is just begining to hunt, but my friend insisted that they could use my help. So I got up early and met the guys on the Terre Rouge the next morning.

In just a bit we were into hogs, and multiple bays were going on, and the dogs and hunters began to spread out in different directions in pursuit of various hogs. We hadn't intended to do this, the plan was to stick together, but as they say "manure happens".

Soon me and my friend Neal were in pursuit of our dogs and a few others, maybe 10 dogs or so, with three of them being bull dogs. I wish we would have had more catch dogs but it was, what it was.

Soon we saw some huge hog tracks leading into a bay with all the commotion, noise and confusion that a big boar can bring to a hunt. Soon we saw a dog walking our way dragging it's guts behind him. I put a .41 cal. bullet into his head to put an end to it's misery.

The hog broke off the bay at the shot and moved even deeper into a huge thicket. The thicket consisted of holly bushes, small pines, and thorn trees, and sticker bushes. We could hear the grunting of the great beast from where we were standing and soon heard the yelping of dogs as they were being gored.

I got onto my hands and knees and began crawling into what almost appeared to be a tunnel in the direction of the bay. Neal said he wasn't going, as it would be too dangerous, as there wouldn't be any room to manover. But the sound of the dogs yelping, and barking, plus the grunts of the hog kept me going. After what seemed like an eternity, crawling through this tunnel, where the vegatation cut off the sunlight, I came to the bay.

The great hog had his rear to a blow down, and he was facing four dogs, one of which was my little gyp. Two catch dogs were laying in the mud, with their blood mingling with the dirty swamp water, their lives oozing away. The other catch dog wanted no part of the great beast and stood barking like a bay dog.

I was still on my hands and knees in the tunnel of vegatation. I drew my revolver and emptied it into the beast at a range of 7 yds or so. The hog just stood there, like a hunk of granite. Then he lowered his head, and begain to click his tusk. I swear I saw sparks fly from those great daggers of ivory. Then he came, I had already dropped the revolver and had drawn my knife, which I held out in front of me. The force of the charged threw me into the brush only semi-conscious. The great hog was on me thrusting his great head this way and that way, with fire coming from his nostrils. Then he fell over, dead. The abrupt end left me breathless with relief. I had some deep wounds in both thighs and a shallow wound accross my stomach. Neal got to me and then ran off to get the 4wheeler. I made a tourquet out of my tee shirt and took turns going from one leg to the other. I guessed I passed out cause when I came to I was home and was told that emts were enroute.

Some of the guys came to the house with the hog. It was too big to put on a bike so they hitched him to a couple of bikes and pulled him to a logging road, where it took seven guys to put him into the bed of a 4x4 and then to my house. A picture was taken of him at my insistance before I was loaded into an ambulance.

Well I made it, but it is still dicey as to wether or not I will lose a leg. Tough, but if so I will learn to hunt one-legged.

I know he looks huge in this photo, but believe me, it doesn't do him justice.

you must be quite a fisherman too
cuz you caught "this" sucker
Hook,Line and sinker!!!
Great story!!

you tell a great story! merci bien!

You own me a new key board coffee isn't good for them LOL

Gott love it!!

Thanks for a very entertaining read. And a great laugh.

Hey thanks for your kind remarks concerning my little post. We had half the piglett for lunch the other day and probably make sandwiches with the rest?

Good hunting!

Dang, you had me going there, Larry! Hahahahaha! That was funny!! Nice work!

Thanks Marco, what he lacked in size he made up for it on the Barb.

That was the single greatest hunting tale I have ever read. Thank you for the good laugh.

Thank you, I'm glad you found it amusing. Actually the idea came to me a while back. I just needed a piglet for the photo.

There's no denying it, I was properly had.

Well done Larry, a superlative example of the genre!

Great Story!!!!!

There's no doubt that you can take the boy out of Louisiana but you can't take Louisiana out of the man.......hilarious.....

Great story, I was hooked.


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WOW, thank you all, I'm enjoying the applause, Amir and guys.

Funny thing Cat, my folks came from Alsace, in the early 1700s to settle Arkansas. They stayed a while but went back to La. and settled above New Orleans in what was to become the "Cote des Allemands" or the German Coast. There they adopted the french ways and language, and gave the accordian to cajun music.

So this is my families second attempt to settle Arkansas.

That is hilarious! I had to clean coffee off of my office desk.

quote:

Originally posted by Larry Matherne:
WOW, thank you all, I'm enjoying the applause, Amir and guys.

Funny thing Cat, my folks came from Alsace, in the early 1700s to settle Arkansas. They stayed a while but went back to La. and settled above New Orleans in what was to become the "Cote des Allemands" or the German Coast. There they adopted the french ways and language, and gave the accordian to cajun music.

So this is my families second attempt to settle Arkansas.

Larry:

Not that I would EVER doubt the veracity of anything posted by anyone on AR but your mentioning your family's history of settling in Ark in the 1700s sounded odd to me so I checked it out. Voila, c'est vrai! I humbly apologize for doubting you. To be honest, I wasn't doubting the story, just the dates. That's twice I've been wrong, the first time I just thought I was. Never too late for an old dog to learn something....

Arkie cajuns, who'd thunk it?

Well after this topic, I'd check out anything the orginator has to say myself!!

Apropos of nothing but thinking of good friends and times gone I recall a hunting story with a good friend of mine, recently deceased. John Taylor was a "Yankee" cajun from Haynesville who lived the last 20 years of his life as a fishing guide out of Buras, La. From one end of the state to the other, if you go any farther than Buras, you've got a boat or are swimming.

I've hunted many a duck and quail with John over the years but he was a fisherman at heart. I could always stay with or ahead of him shooting but he could outfish me 3 to one.

At any rate, we were quail hunting with a borrowed dog. John was famous for borrowing things, he'd mostly take them back, too.
We were in some tall sage brush. Dog points on brush top. Bird gets up, and flies about 10 feet before dropping, either from being hit or because it wasn't a quail, but a timberdoodle.
I used to be pretty quick with a shotgun and I got off a shot, as did another guy with us, but it was so quick I wasn't even sure I had hit it. John, on my right is hollering, "I got it, I got it".....short pause, "Wait, my gun didn't shoot." His gun malfunctioned and didn't fire, but his mouth was stll working fine. He was a true son of Louisiana.

Dog went over and picked up the dead woodcock by the tip of it's wing and brought it back and kind of spit it out, saying in dog sign language, "That ain't no quail." This while I was rolling around laughing about the "I got it" episode.

I would have liked to have spent some time with Mr. Taylor myself. I've spent sometime in Buras going back to the 60's when the marsh was still healthy. The fishing and duck hunting was something to behold.

Fishing for redfish and specks is the one thing besides family that I really miss nowdays. I try to make up for it by hog hunting. I've really become a dog lover in the process.

Haven't done much quail hunting or woodcock hunting, as most of the birds I've chased have web feet, but I understand that a good bird dog doesn't like to retrieve woodcock.

I hunted doves one time with a friend who claimed a bird when we both shot at the sametime. It just happened to be one of those rare days I couldn't miss and he couldn't hit. At the end of the hunt he gave me the bird and apologised. It would have helped though if his gun would have malfunctioned to make the situation clearer.

Too bad that good friends and good dogs aren't more permanent, life is diminished with their passing.

John was a classic. Sometime I'll have to tell the tale of when he hauled me to Mexico Whitewing hunting one time, as often happened with John's plans, things went somewhat awry. It's really too long for me to want to type now.

I absolutely love wade fishing for specks. Every year I threaten to move to Grand Isle for a few months so I could get my fill of it, at least for while.

As you have noticed, specs and redfish are somewhat difficult to find in our area.