Theres nothing quite like the feeling of a boar hunt.
The andrenaline rush when you track a big cunt.
Watching the dogs work noses to the ground.
Standing ever so quietly listening for sound.
Then all of a sudden a blow & a grunt.
Somehow my pups have found & stopped this old cunt.
With one high pitch scream i knew it was on.
Out of breath trying to get there before something goes wrong.
Trying to find a game trail through thinings blackberry & gorse.
On top of rugged terrain & steep gullies of course.
Im not far now i can hear the loud breathing.
When i look in the drain everythings steaming.
My thoughts was slide down & back up the pack.
But i was still tired & struggling to get my breath back.
I weigh up my options slide down & aim for the tail.
But its been yanked off that plans a fail.
So i muster my last ounce of energy & grab hes front leg.
And make the big boar flip on to his head.
I sink my knee into his guts & reach for my knife.
And thank this big boar for giving his life.
Poems Dedicated to the late Paul Johnson thanks for teaching us 35 way of life.💙