When I wrote the poem The Little Girl in the Crimson Hood. I had a role model in mind, especially for the final line: "They don't mess with grannie's grandkid." She's the granddaughter of my wife's favorite first cousin. Barely twelve years old, she's already a straight 'A' student, a beauty contest winner, a school cheerleader, and an avid sportsperson. Her latest passion is wild hog hunting with her father who gave me this picture to post. He said he wished he had his camera ready when she splashed from the swamp with this hog tied across the front of an Arctic Cat four wheeler and another one across the back.
This picture was snapped just before the hog was delivered to a processing plant for conversion to table fare.
Wild hog hunting is not for the faint of heart. Tracking dogs are used to find and corner the fierce animal, then a bulldog is loosed to garner the hog's attention long enough for the hunter (or huntress in this case) to slip in with a knife to make the kill. Guns are not used because of the danger to the dogs.
The wild, or feral, hogs are descendants of domesticated pigs loosed by the European colonists in the 1700s and even earlier by the Spaniard explorer De Soto when he made his journey across the South in the 1500s. They are now so numerous throughout the South that they have become a nuisance, destroying crops, property, and indigenous wildlife. Recently, the feral hogs in a nearby state park were aggressive with campers. Because the girl's group doesn't use firearms, the rangers have requested their help in reducing the park's feral hog population.