[boondoggle]

I hate the bastages due to an incident at the age of 10. It was the first time I was allowed to be a solo stander on a dog drive at the hunt club in the SC low country...

I'm feeling 10 feet tall and so proud of myself for being recognized as one of the men - mere boys had to hunt with their Dad or Grandfather. My testosterone levels were so high that morning I thought I could feel short and curlies sprouting. As the morning advanced, I'm thinking Jennifer (the object of my 4th grade affections) would swoon over this momentous occasion and give me some more kisses. I almost had an airburst as the dogs baying grew louder and I heard something busting through the swamp's underbrush. My dreams of pre-pubescent conquest were shattered as the boar burst out of the sawbriars headed straight towards me. I screamed like a little girl, dropped my shotgun and beat feet to a skinny sweet gum tree. I shinnied up a sweet gum tree and clamped down to prevent my fall into certain death . All the tales of hogs ripping open dogs and men spun by the good guys (read comedians) at the hunt club had schooled all of us boys into a healthy respect and fear of the porcine occupants of our swamp. Those tales maintained my now surging adrenaline levels until drivers came up to shoot the boar and allow my safe retreat down the gum tree. I caught massive grief and lost most of my shirt back (dropping your gun and running is much worse than missing) when we all assembled at the shack to prep for the next drive. That little ceremony fires my abhorance of these bastages. I gladly participate in their demise each & every trip home to SC.