NO TITLE WILL DO

There is really no title to sum up what I am about to tell you. As with many of my stories, this will seem unbelievable. BUT I ASSURE YOU....this actually happened.


WAAAAAAY back before we had kids my hubby and I (along with our 2 weenie dogs...Leonard Percival and Sparky Dog) were driving from our home in New Mexico, to our hometown in Texas. We were on our way to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of my grandparents. A huge event was planned. It was late and we were at the end of a very long trip. Those from the area I'm talking about know how there is NOTHING out there....well, there was something, but not anymore.


As I said, it was very late...very dark. The stars were out, but as I remember, there was no moon. We were in a Pontiac Sunbird. We were driving the back roads, allowing us to go a bit faster and not worry about traffic. We were likely listening to a favorite radio station and talking about something inspirational when all of the sudden


WHAM!!! OK...it was a lot louder than that, but of course, I can't relay that over the blog.


Anyway, with the "wham" came a sudden jolt. Hubby, being a great driver with a cool head, managed to keep the POJ Mobile (pronounced "POZSH" mobile...p.o.j....piece of junk....get it?) Anyway...he managed to keep the POJ mobile on the road with minimal swerving. He brought the car to a stop.

I was in hysterics as whatever happened scared THE CRAP out of me! Crying, I asked DH what had happened. He replied, "We hit something. I didn't even see it!" He was apparently shaken. We honestly didn't know what had been hit. DH thought about turning around to investigate, but I was too scared and begged him not to. In that neck of the woods, it's not uncommon to hit a coyote, but you don't want to go up on an injured animal. And, since we didn't have a pistol with us, we didn't want to chance it. On the off chance that it was a person......well, I don't even want to go there.


SO...at my insistence, my hubby continued our drive home. We had 40 miles or so to go. No cell phones. No traffic. No call boxes. No houses. We were out in the oil field where there is NOTHING...only pumpjacks, stars, 2 people, 2 dogs and the POJ Mobile.


A POJ Mobile that is suddenly not running well. It was pulling horribly to the right. (That is what happens when you hit something hard enough, huh?) AND, in the faintest of starlight, we could see that the front of the POJ was messed up badly. So badly, in fact, that my hubby practiced all of his colorful words. So badly that the POJ was named the POJ after this happened...'cause it was all downhill from there.


Instead of tootling along at a comfy 80-90 mph, as we had been doing, we were now forced to slow to a creeping 40-45 mph, constantly fighting the right pull, seeing the jacked up front of the car and coping with the hysterics of the only female in the car.


We FINALLY got home. I immediately found my dad. (I'm not ashamed...I'm a Daddy's girl.) I found my dad and just collapsed against him and cried, "DADDEEEEEEEEE....we hit something. My car is messed up."


SO...all the men who were standing around began to engage in the sordid events of the last hour and a half. While the men questioned my hubby and congratulated him on a job well done, I leashed my babies (my dogs) and let them start sniffing for a place to release their pent-up anxiety.

Leonard ran one way and Sparky went for the car. I mean, what dog wouldn't? There had to be some evidence...some clue as to what we had destroyed out there on the lone desert highway. My small, red, mini-dachshund ran under the car. I could feel the leash jump with each snort and sniff of his small muzzle. Next thing...well....I really have to be there to tell you...but Sparky grunted. Like a grunt when someone sneaks up behind you and gooses you in the side...hard. It was kind of an "UH!" But longer and louder....followed by Sparky darting back out from under the car. Something had scared that little dog.


The men went to investigate immediately. They opened the door. Between the light of the car and the street light, I heard, "WHAT IS THAT?"


There was a lot of mumbling and murmuring.



The car was jacked up. The underside was looked at. There was a hide....stretching from the front axle to the rear tire. There was a leg caught in the axle. There was a head.....THERE WAS A HEAD...with tusks. And coarse, long hair. Do you know what it was? It was a wild boar. A boar that stood tall enough to barely be seen over the top of the hood. A boar that weighed a good 300-400 pounds. A boar that, for all intents and purposes, should have caused us to flip. A boar that, had we seen it in the daylight, we would have.


My first question was, "Is it dead?"


HUH????


OK...I readily admit that I'm blond, but I totally blame my hysterics for my muddled thinking.

My dad informed me that yes, after having drug the animal for over 40 miles, he was, INDEED, dead.


or, "DEADER'N DOORNAIL."


One of the funniest things though (as if the whole story doesn't tickle you a bit) was that when I finally went to sit down...mascara all smudged, still hiccuping from my tears...I sat at my grandmother's table...along with 2 of my aunts and one of my great-aunts...a very OLD lady.


She was a bit deaf.


DID I SAY SHE WAS DEAF?


Right slap in the middle of my story, she looks at my grandmother and yells, "What's wrong with her? Why is SHE crying?"


My grandmother yelled back, "She ran over an animal."


"What?"


"SHE RAN OVER A WILD BOAR!"


"WHAT?"


"SHE RAN OVER A PIG!"


"PIGS? We haven't had pigs for years."


There ya go.....really.