The above stolen photo is a wild hog, photographed in Valdosta. Prior to our move to Savannah back in 2010, I'd never seen a wild hog. I didn't realize this was a "thing". Our first experience with a wild hog was one probably twice the size of the above photo, hanging out in our parking lot of our townhouse. I assumed it was a domesticated pig (albeit a really fucking huge one) and started to approach it before D stopped me. In recalling the story to my local friends, I found out that I was a freaking idiot and that the wild hog population has a reputation of being nasty. There's a special section on Wiki for "attacks on humans".
|Truck for reference.|
I still think it's a domesticated pig.
Better safe than mauled?
So last night, I take Archie back to that trail but intentionally plan to avoid the area where we saw the pig the day before. I'd had him trotting for a few minutes and finally let him break to a walk just as we were approaching the loop. Then we both hear a scream.
Fortunately, the giant scary never-seen wild hog screamed again, so I could tell where it was and knew that if we continued on our path, we'd be headed straight for it. I have never in my life ridden Archie like this, but I whipped him around while pressing my heels into him and told him to go. Again, no idea if they'd run screaming from him, but no interest in finding out. Of course, "go" for a geriatric crippled pony is an extended trot, but it was fine because it was safe and sustainable.
|Of course the only heart rate it captures is "oh shit" mode.|