Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Monday, January 7, 2013

Dogs Hunting Hogs

     As MyMrMallory and I wandered about in the countryside, we came upon quite a sight, well, quite a sight for this town gnome. We saw two all-terrain vehicles piled with several men and dogs. The dogs alone were a sight to see. A couple of them stood on the hood, noses up, vigilant for the odor of wild hogs; they had dogs that wore protective vests; and all the dogs wore tracking devices around their necks.
      We stopped. "You look as if you are ready for anything," said MyMrMallory.
      "Yeah!" said the hunter. "Why don't you follow us?"
      And we did. We watched until the hounds and the hunters in their all-terrain vehicles disappeared into the winter bushes. Wikipedia has an interesting entry on hog hunting through the ages.

Rough terrain rarely stops passionate hunters.

Banshi, a pitbull, wears a protective vest. 

Jasco and Skipper rushed into the wild when they smelled a hog.

Focussed.

Red Dog, the youngest and most vocal.

Red Dog announces her eagerness to run.

Hank is steady on the hood as they traverse the country in search of hogs.

       One of the all-terrain vehicles pulled a wagon in which, at the end of the hunt, they held a captured 230-pound sow to take to market.

Tracking the dogs on his GPS.

         The hunters released the hounds and all disappeared into the bushes. At this point, MyMrMallory and I turned around and returned to bird-watching on our own. 

The next morning, the wild cam made an image of a wild hog.

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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.