Another one bites the dust

My power went out last night and I went down the creaky wooden steps which lead to the fuse box in the musty basement. But this time the mustiness was different; it had a porcine edge to it, not only porcine but something sylvan, something that burrowed in moss and carried stealth and danger with it at all times.

I knew what it was even before the familiar grunt filled the air. The lights coming on at that instant confirmed my suspicion... wild boar.

Not one, but two, and they were in a most compromising position. It was unfortuante that I didn't have my camera with me, but picture the two in this photo scuffling around in the dirt in the corner of my basement....








That was my confrontation. I grabbed the wooden rail on the steps and turned to race back to the safety of the upstairs at the precise moment that the boar disengaged from his bitch (or whatever they call the female wart hogs) and charged. He was quicker that I was. I had only made three steps when I felt his teeth digging into my ankle and to my horror I was being pulled backward.

He dragged me onto the floor and as I rolled around in a defensive position and instinctually shot my hands down to cover my testicles because of all the problems I've been having with losing them lately, but he once again was seconds quicker and his razor-sharp tusk shot between my rapidly closing hands and managed to spear a testicle dead center. A quick grunt and a snap of his head and the testicle was ripped from my body.

His head had moved back so quickly that the testicle slid off the end of the tusk and was hurled upward where it bounced off a floor joist and settled into the clutching embrace of the thickest spider web I had ever seen.

I remember a few years back I had vowed to clean up the spider webs in my basement, but you know how those things go. Something else comes up -- a fence needs a repair, calves being born, congestive heart failure on one of the squids -- and you forget about the original task.

So there I was, staring upward as a fat and apparently fearless spider raced toward the severed testicle and began the ageless spider process of wrapping the thing up. Round and round he went as me and the boar, necks strained upward, watched in fascination.

I came out of my reverie first and managed to maintain my wits and race up the stairs just out of reach of the boar, again madly in pursuit.

I slammed the door when he reached the top step and heard his head smash into it and the sound of his body rolling back down.

So here I am, another testicle gone, a boar or two in the basement, and, if I remember correctly, I am out of string and will have to foregoe the stiching and resort to duct tape to cover my wound until I can see Doc Jensen next week.

Down to three testicles. The chupacabra got one, one lost to the band saw, and now the angry boar.

Or do I still have four?

Not sure, but I had better start taping. I'll let you know the testicle count a bit later.

Gustav