Wild Pigs in the Forgotten Parrish, A Child's Tale
Vernon Parrish
The feral pigs wandered around the thickets and the brambles of the back woods of Vernon Parrish, keeping their distance from the humans and the crazy noisy vehicles that they drove. These loud, boisterous, yet ever sneaky bipeds would wind their machines across the back roads and the gravel and dirt paths of their land. They, this small hovel of porkers, filial swine that stayed together always, not wandering too far from Momma and Papa, kept tight and secure. Juicy was almost full sized, and might look to run with another pack soon enough. But that was not this summer. Not till at least next spring. After the cold and the frost, a long way from now.
Now it was hot; the longest days of the year provided bugs and food that made it easier to find sustenance. Easier to find still, with the human trash and offal that those noisy bipeds leaving behind where ever they moved. If they stuck together, these feral pigs--hogs by another name--would be fine. Happy and foraging. Every night more food.
The three little ones always had trouble staying close to the Big Ones. This posed problems for everybody's survival. Threats lay everywhere. There were snakes and worse: alligators in the few lakes that were stuck between the Louisiana rolling hills and ridges of the parrish.
Louisiana, if you did not know, did not have counties like all the other states in the lower 48. The Roman Catholic tradition had created units called parrishes, named after church groups and congregations. Vernon was rather isolated, making it pretty ideal for foraging swine as these.
The hogs and their little hoglets didn't care. They all, big and small, worried more about food and roaming.
Juicy was so big, he seemed untouchable; however, all the hogs were timorous and trembling when it came to humans and gators. Most snakes and other critters were afraid of them, these roaming wild pigs: serpents made for good eating, as did the dead vermin like rats and possums.
The little ones were Juan, Paco, and Ruiz. They were cute, but they didn't know it. Cuteness and and beauty did not matter in their world.
Sleeping by day was of a premium. A cool, quiet spot was always best. They had a few dozen.
The humans were overall the scariest to feral pigs, making big scary noises with the whirlybirds in the skies and the landing pads, the huge trucks and the various metal sticks and poles that made explosions and bangs of all kinds, day and night.
Sometimes the humans would run through the forest and fields at night, with no lights and little warning.
One summer it was particularly dry and a lot of fish and bugs had died. Food was scarce; hard to come by.
The pigs were doing pretty well because of all the trash the humans would dump all around.
The alligators were hungrier than ever. Their supplies were low, their bellies were tight, and their moods became frenzied.
The biggest one at the airstrip lake, known in some animal circles as Big Ziggy, crawled up from his muddy hole late one night at the end of that dry, dusty June. He was mean and hungry, much more willing to travel from the water than normal. Maybe Big Ziggy was a she, true; but either way she was huge and deadly.
Some people are not sure how alligators, or crocodiles in Africa, detect their prey if not by movement and noise. Could they sense their potential food by heat or by smell?
Big Ziggy was determined to find something, yes, someone that night, while the moon splayed brightly across the upper tree line of the lake toward the human plane airstrip where all the humans had gathered. The humans had their places, and the wild swine of Mama and Papa had theirs.
Big Ziggy crawled and slithered up the hill, a steeper rise from the lake surface than most of the terrain for miles and miles. Maybe it was the steepest hill in all of Vernon Parrish, which made for more and deeper water in Ziggy's swampy, scummy lair.
The climb did not deter him. He was then weighing perhaps 300 pounds. In fatter seasons he/she was a mammoth 400 pounder. Most humans did not believe the rumors about this killer monster, but it was true. Most alligators in Vernon Parrish would top off at 200 pounds, big enough to scare off fishermen and would-be hikers. And of course struck terror in the pigs and other crawling creatures of the parrish. Deep into the long, hot, and this time, dry, Deep South summer.
Ruiz woke up first, sniffling about to his left and believing he had heard something.
Was it a human coming around to relieve itself of their liquids as they did so late at night? Or maybe sneaking off to smoke that sweet tobacco? Too late! The little black pig found itself inside the smelly, warm, toothy yet sticky and pungently mushy jaws of the reptile, a modern day dinosaur monster. And it was moving...
SSSSQEEEEEEEEEL !!!
WEEE !!! WEEEE !!! WEEE!
Ruiz cried in bloody murder.
The rest of the family nearby awoke, half running in every direction, but the mother and father instinctively hearing the muffled and pained cries of their little one.
They both grunted in short staccato unison, knowing they had made up their minds.
They were going to strike back at this threat.
Big Ziggy was already lumbering back down the brambles and thickets of the slope of the lake. He hit a log, and a trunk, stopped in his downward shambling and gravitational pull to the brackish water of the night, then reflected under the western moonlight above the multitude of endless trees.
Momma and Papa, joined by a resurgent hyper-energized Juicy, cornered this behemoth. They all hit it at the same time. With all their might they charged with their heads and hooves, blasting what they they could reach of this monster.
Incredibly and without a clue, Big Ziggy coughed up little Ruiz, now bleeding and cut from the bite hold the gator had upon him for those infinite seconds of whirling, swirling, awful captivity.
But he was free! Big Ziggy turned to bear down on the nearest attacker, which was Juicy, he being a hog of some 100 pounds; the reptile did not see the simultaneous cross attack of the two parents, and...
The feral pigs wandered around the thickets and the brambles of the back woods of Vernon Parrish, keeping their distance from the humans and the crazy noisy vehicles that they drove. These loud, boisterous, yet ever sneaky bipeds would wind their machines across the back roads and the gravel and dirt paths of their land. They, this small hovel of porkers, filial swine that stayed together always, not wandering too far from Momma and Papa, kept tight and secure. Juicy was almost full sized, and might look to run with another pack soon enough. But that was not this summer. Not till at least next spring. After the cold and the frost, a long way from now.
Now it was hot; the longest days of the year provided bugs and food that made it easier to find sustenance. Easier to find still, with the human trash and offal that those noisy bipeds leaving behind where ever they moved. If they stuck together, these feral pigs--hogs by another name--would be fine. Happy and foraging. Every night more food.
The three little ones always had trouble staying close to the Big Ones. This posed problems for everybody's survival. Threats lay everywhere. There were snakes and worse: alligators in the few lakes that were stuck between the Louisiana rolling hills and ridges of the parrish.
Louisiana, if you did not know, did not have counties like all the other states in the lower 48. The Roman Catholic tradition had created units called parrishes, named after church groups and congregations. Vernon was rather isolated, making it pretty ideal for foraging swine as these.
The hogs and their little hoglets didn't care. They all, big and small, worried more about food and roaming.
Juicy was so big, he seemed untouchable; however, all the hogs were timorous and trembling when it came to humans and gators. Most snakes and other critters were afraid of them, these roaming wild pigs: serpents made for good eating, as did the dead vermin like rats and possums.
The little ones were Juan, Paco, and Ruiz. They were cute, but they didn't know it. Cuteness and and beauty did not matter in their world.
Sleeping by day was of a premium. A cool, quiet spot was always best. They had a few dozen.
The humans were overall the scariest to feral pigs, making big scary noises with the whirlybirds in the skies and the landing pads, the huge trucks and the various metal sticks and poles that made explosions and bangs of all kinds, day and night.
Sometimes the humans would run through the forest and fields at night, with no lights and little warning.
One summer it was particularly dry and a lot of fish and bugs had died. Food was scarce; hard to come by.
The pigs were doing pretty well because of all the trash the humans would dump all around.
The alligators were hungrier than ever. Their supplies were low, their bellies were tight, and their moods became frenzied.
The biggest one at the airstrip lake, known in some animal circles as Big Ziggy, crawled up from his muddy hole late one night at the end of that dry, dusty June. He was mean and hungry, much more willing to travel from the water than normal. Maybe Big Ziggy was a she, true; but either way she was huge and deadly.
Some people are not sure how alligators, or crocodiles in Africa, detect their prey if not by movement and noise. Could they sense their potential food by heat or by smell?
Big Ziggy was determined to find something, yes, someone that night, while the moon splayed brightly across the upper tree line of the lake toward the human plane airstrip where all the humans had gathered. The humans had their places, and the wild swine of Mama and Papa had theirs.
Big Ziggy crawled and slithered up the hill, a steeper rise from the lake surface than most of the terrain for miles and miles. Maybe it was the steepest hill in all of Vernon Parrish, which made for more and deeper water in Ziggy's swampy, scummy lair.
The climb did not deter him. He was then weighing perhaps 300 pounds. In fatter seasons he/she was a mammoth 400 pounder. Most humans did not believe the rumors about this killer monster, but it was true. Most alligators in Vernon Parrish would top off at 200 pounds, big enough to scare off fishermen and would-be hikers. And of course struck terror in the pigs and other crawling creatures of the parrish. Deep into the long, hot, and this time, dry, Deep South summer.
Ruiz woke up first, sniffling about to his left and believing he had heard something.
Was it a human coming around to relieve itself of their liquids as they did so late at night? Or maybe sneaking off to smoke that sweet tobacco? Too late! The little black pig found itself inside the smelly, warm, toothy yet sticky and pungently mushy jaws of the reptile, a modern day dinosaur monster. And it was moving...
SSSSQEEEEEEEEEL !!!
WEEE !!! WEEEE !!! WEEE!
Ruiz cried in bloody murder.
The rest of the family nearby awoke, half running in every direction, but the mother and father instinctively hearing the muffled and pained cries of their little one.
They both grunted in short staccato unison, knowing they had made up their minds.
They were going to strike back at this threat.
Big Ziggy was already lumbering back down the brambles and thickets of the slope of the lake. He hit a log, and a trunk, stopped in his downward shambling and gravitational pull to the brackish water of the night, then reflected under the western moonlight above the multitude of endless trees.
Momma and Papa, joined by a resurgent hyper-energized Juicy, cornered this behemoth. They all hit it at the same time. With all their might they charged with their heads and hooves, blasting what they they could reach of this monster.
Incredibly and without a clue, Big Ziggy coughed up little Ruiz, now bleeding and cut from the bite hold the gator had upon him for those infinite seconds of whirling, swirling, awful captivity.
But he was free! Big Ziggy turned to bear down on the nearest attacker, which was Juicy, he being a hog of some 100 pounds; the reptile did not see the simultaneous cross attack of the two parents, and...
WHAM !! jolted from both sides about his head and neck by these over-adrenalized parents, Big Ziggy now realized that he needed to retreat to the dark depths of his lair as soon as possible, frustrated to not get his feed but at least to survive for another day, albeit famished.
The pigs, quickly recovering their little piglet, regrouped and headed up the hill, away from the lake, closer to the humans and their trucks and tents. They then headed north and off hill and dale, finding pre-discovered routes that lead them deeper into the thickets of protection and security that they had known all their lives.
They licked little bloody and whimpering Ruiz and smeared mud and pine thistles on his wounds. He was sore but would survive. He had his hooves and snout, and he sucked the life-blood milk from Momma for the next two hours.
After falling asleep, Juan, Paco, Juicy and the rest found their courage and peace, and drowsed off for the rest of the pre-dawn, by now the moon setting to the southwest.
This was a different night than most in the Louisiana parrish, but the little black pigs gratefully slept together, dreaming of foraging among the moon filled nights long into that endless summer, fattening up for the rains and chills of the shorter days long distant from that piercing night of wailing terror.
Such was the life of the little black pig clan of Vernon Parrish.
If you look out upon the summer moon on warm sleepless nights, perhaps you will think of Papa, Momma, Juicy, and Juan, Paco, and Ruiz. The summers will not be this dry and dusty, but you will know the terrain by the roads and brambles, the lakes and ridges...
And, you might think of Big Ziggy. She is not waiting for you, poor human, but she does get pretty sorely hungry every now and again.
Many people have never heard of Vernon Parrish. Some may have heard of it in passing, and then forgotten all about it.
Will you forget about that night of squeals and fright?
Should you? Like the wolf who met his fate against the three little pigs, remember this tale of the pig clan of Vernon Parrish.
Many people have never heard of Vernon Parrish. Some may have heard of it in passing, and then forgotten all about it.
Will you forget about that night of squeals and fright?
Should you? Like the wolf who met his fate against the three little pigs, remember this tale of the pig clan of Vernon Parrish.
THE END
Or is it?
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