Back in my younger days I used to hunt wild hogs. Me and my buddy Bob actually spent a lot of time hunting, and always had our freezers full of pork. Wild hogs were everywhere where we lived; most were feral hogs left over from when ranchers used to range hogs. If you’ve ever read “Old Yeller” it was like that; folks just let the hogs roam free, and a couple of times a year they’d go out with dogs and round them up. They’d notch the ears of the piglets and unmarked hogs (kind of like a cattle brand), and take a few home to fatten up for eating, and just turn the rest back out. Of course, not all of these hogs were ever rounded up so these feral pigs were pretty much everywhere.
Bob and I were dog hunters. We typically hunted with strike dogs; these were dogs that were good at tracking a pig and running it until they either wore it out or bayed it up in an arroyo or brush patch. They’d keep worrying the pig until we got there, then jump on it and pull it down. But other times we used catch dogs; these were typically bigger dogs with little stamina; you set them on a hog when you could see it, and they would just run in and grab that hog and pull it down. Either way after the pig was down it was a simple matter to dispatch it with a knife exactly the way you’d slaughter a domestic hog.
Not all of our hunting was legal. There were times we’d hunt at night, which was totally illegal. And most times we had permission to hunt on private land, but sometimes we’d hunt without permission. Usually when we hunted without permission it was because we knew exactly where the pigs were; either a wallow or a good feeding ground meant the pigs were there at predictable times. Then we could get in with catch dogs, kill a pig each, and then get out. It was all quick and and quiet and precise and the likelihood of getting caught was pretty low.
One of our favorite places to poach was a small dairy farm just up the road from Bob’s house. It was a small operation, probably no more than 20 or 30 cows, but it was at the end of Cienega Road and, better yet, there was a little corral where the cows were fed in the evening. Every evening the cows would congregate in that corral and wait for the farmer to fill the troughs with feed. And that feed would attract the feral hogs; the hogs would come in after dark and mingle with the cows and eat their feed. I don’t know who figured out that this was the perfect opportunity to get a pig, but somehow we did. We developed a simple system; one of us would drive, the other with his dog would ride. We’d drive up the road after dark (preferrably when there was a full moon) with our headlights out. When we were next to the corral where the cows were feeding the one hunting would jump out with the dog. He’d go to the corral and let that dog loose to catch a hog. Once that hog was down he’d knife kill it, grab hog and dog, and get back to the road. In the meantime the driver would go up to the end of the road, turn around, and pick him up. It was a great system, and we put a lot of meat in our freezers from that place. We justified it in our heads that we were helping that dairy farmer by killing those pigs eating his cows’ feed. Certainly no harm was done to the farmer or his cows.
Every once in a while we’d invite a friend along to go with us on these little expeditions. One of the friends who went with us on a more or less regular basis was a guy named Cipriano, though everyone called him Soupy. Now Soupy wasn’t the greatest hunter, mostly cause he didn’t take the time to train his dogs so they were always chasing critters other than pigs. But when it came to this little expedition it didn’t matter since the pigs were right there and the dogs couldn’t miss. I mean, it’s not like they could take down a cow, right?
So Soupy comes over one day and there’s this big mastiff looking dog in the bed of his truck and Soupy comes over and says, “Hey, I got me a new catch dog!” So Bob and I go over to the truck and look at this dog. He was a young dog, no more than two and probably closer to one year old. He had to weigh a hundred and fifty and he still had growing left to do. He was friendly in that sort of goofy, awkward way that big puppies have. It was hard to see him as a catch dog, but I’d seen friendly dogs turn to holy terrors when they get on a hog.
So we’re standing there petting this big, goofy dog, and Bob says, “Well, he sure is big.”
Soupy says, “Yeah, I call him Texas. On account he’s bigger’n everything.”
I said, “You trained him up yet?”
“Well, I done a bit at home with a pig hide,” says Soupy. “In fact, that’s why I come by. There’s a full moon tonight and I was wonderin’ if you guys would be up for hittin’ the dairy farm. I’d like to give Texas a try on a hog.”
Well, Bob never took much convincing when it came to pig hunting so he up and says, “Sure, I’m game.” I figured I didn’t have anything better to do so I chimed in. “Sure, why not? It’s my turn to drive, we can use my car.” My car happened to be an AMC Gremlin; while that may sound like a joke it was actually a good car for this sort of thing. The big hatch back was roomy for the dogs and pig carcasses, and it was quieter than Bob’s Dodge Power Wagon or Soupy’s Ford.
So we agreed to meet up at Bob’s just after dark. At the appointed time we all gathered; Bob had his best catch dog, a brindle pit bull name of Doodles, and Soupy had Texas. They loaded the dogs into the car and got in, Bob in front and Soupy in the back. Soupy was excited, and kept saying, “I bet Texas’ll catch the biggest pig in the bunch!”
Well, we got to Cienega Road and I turned up the road and at the same time I cut my headlights. I drove slow so as not to make a lot of engine noise. I’d put tape over the dome light so it wouldn’t be seen when we opened the doors. We drove past the farm house and just a little farther up the road came adjacent to the corral. I stopped and Bob and Soupy got out, holding the dogs by their collars. I could see Soupy was having a hard time with Texas; the dog was excited and, being so big, it was all Soupy could do to keep him from charging off.
“Good luck, guys,” I said just before they closed the doors and walked down the berm on the side of the road towards the corral. I put my car in drive and let it idle up the road. I didn’t want to be too quick since it was going to take some time for them to drag the hogs back to the road. With the full moon I could see quite clearly.
I got to where the road ended at a locked gate leading into Mr. Ramirez’ ranch, and turned around. I let the Gremlin idle down the road, keeping an eye out for either Bob or Soupy as I got closer to the corral. Pretty soon I could see the corral, but I could also see something was wrong. The outside lights were on at the house, and I could see the farmer out on the deck looking over at the corral. As I got closer I could hear the cows making a racket. I kept driving, looking for Bob or Soupy, but I passed the corral with no sign of them. As I passed the house I was worried the farmer’d see me but he never looked in my direction, he was looking towards his cows. I kept driving. By now I was worried; where the hell was Bob? Soupy? What the hell happened?
I was about a hundred yards past the house when suddenly Bob jumps out of the ditch on the road side with Doodles in tow. I stopped and he opens the passenger door, throws Doodles in the back seat, and jumps in after her. “Drive!” he says. So I started driving again, and I looked back at him in the rear view mirror and said, “What the hell is going on?”
“Texas caught a cow!” he says.
“What?” I says, “You mean a calf?”
“No, a cow. A big old cow.” he says. “We went through the fence into the corral and turned the dogs loose. Texas ran up to the closest cow, grabbed it by the face and pulled it right down on to the ground! It was bellowin’ so loud and set the whole herd to makin’ a God awful racket! I called Doodles in and high tailed it out of there.”
“Where is Soupy?” I asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. Last I saw he was trying to pry Texas off that cow.”
I started laughing so hard I almost drove off the road. Bob looked at me and said “What’s so funny?”
“Well, Soupy did say Texas would catch a big one tonight,” I says. That set Bob to laughing too. But it didn’t last long since we started worrying about Soupy. When we got to where Cienega Road hit the Pole Line Road I stopped the car.
“We should go back for Soupy,” I says.
“Hell, no!” says Bob. “Let’s wait here, if he ain’t caught he’ll make his way here eventually.”
I was about to argue the point when someone tapped on my window and made me jump. It was Soupy and he yelled “Open the back!” So I popped the hatch and he threw Texas in the back and then came around and jumped in the car. I switched on the headlights and started down Pole Line Road to Bob’s place.
“What the hell happened, Soupy?” I asked.
Well, Soupy explained that it took him a while to get Texas off that cow, and by then the farmer was out on his deck so he high tailed it out of there with Texas the same way Bob and Doodles had. He said he saw me go by when I was right by the house so he didn’t flag me down, he just kept going down the ditch and figured he’d catch us somewhere’s along the road.
A while down the road the absurdity of what had happened hit us, and all three of us were laughing by the time we reached Bob’s place. Soupy loaded up Texas and went home, and I drove home myself.
Texas catching that cow ended our poaching at that dairy farm; we never felt it was safe for us to go there again. And big old Texas turned out to be a terrible pig dog but wound up being a great family pet; when Soupy had kids Texas turned out to be great with them. He became a house dog and never hunted again.
As for me and Bob, we never found a place where we could catch a pig that easy ever again. All because Texas caught a cow.
What a tale, I was hooked the whole way like that hog in the picture! Youth sure is a rowdy time. Loved this piece, thanks for sharing!
What a story; and a Gremlin for the pickup! Never hunted myself but you had one heck of a night! Thanks for sharing, Erniet!