Perimeter of Sounder Territory; Texas Panhandle; August 2012
Between the drought and the continued expansion of lands being converted for man’s needs, the wild hogs escalated their attacks on unsuspecting cattle and sheep to maintain their well-being. After a series of losses, ranchers became more vigilant in protecting their livestock. Banding together, landowners employed specially trained guard dogs to alert them. Many installed portable lighting to illuminate large areas near water troughs where livestock herded. Combined, the methods enabled the ranchers to kill and maim dozens of boars in a few months’ time.
Consequently, the sounders began expanding their range westward in search of their staples: roots, nuts, grass, fruits, mushrooms, bugs, worms, rodents, rabbits, and even birds. But the new terrain was also filled with danger. The most abundant area discovered by the pigs abutted a nondescript housing plat plopped down amidst a diverse habitat of plant and animal life. The extensive neighborhood’s unceasing activity at first alarmed the boars and prevented them from fully exploiting the wealth of available resources. For the boars to flourish, adaptation was critical.
And adapt they did.
Survival became a game of cat and mouse as the residential area became the favored target of the opportunistic omnivores. Pet dogs, cats, and caged animals became the next easiest prey for the bloodthirsty beasts. The boars quickly learned dogs secured to chains were the equivalent of boar-nation fast food. If the owners failed to hear the few squeals of the dog when the boars struck, the next morning they might find only partial threads of a collar lying on the ground, an empty chain, and a few splotches of blood.
Attacks on pets became habitual. Within a few months, dozens of dogs, cats, chickens, and even caged pet rabbits were ravaged. The boars brutally ransacked cages with their powerful snouts and incredible strength, destroying all shelters before consuming, in entirety, the live bodies of these domesticated animals. Facing little resistance, the boars grew fearless as their thirst for blood became unquenchable.
The community adapted as well. Pets normally left outside or subject to danger were no longer exposed. They were either housed indoors or in insurmountable shelters. Though a few homeowners successfully shot and killed several boars as they feasted on their beloved pets, nothing deterred the creatures. The turning point for the community, however, was just one incident away.
On the last day of August, during a full moon, the most aggressive sounder staged the unthinkable: an attack on a dog kennel on the edge of town. To date, it was the most devastating, disturbing, and disruptive wildlife attack in local history. The boars systematically attacked, killed, and ate three dozen dogs of various breeds quartered in outdoor kennels. The chain-link fencing encompassing the dogs proved no match for the highly aggressive, blood-seeking omnivores. Pens crumbled like matchsticks as they thrust their 400-pound bodies into the ordinarily reliable fencing. Protected by their rugged hide, the boars effortlessly deflected cuts, scrapes, and bruises from the steel-chain fencing to breach the pens and accomplish the massacre. The only things left were a few frayed collars and dog tags. Every shard of flesh and bone had been consumed, and the pools of blood were nearly licked dry.
The town was abuzz. The entire Panhandle contemplated a mass extermination of boars throughout the region. The boars had gone mad, and the community demanded action. Public debate ensued. No one could agree on how, when, or who would eradicate the boars. Weeks passed without further significant incidents, and the public’s concern faded. Unbeknownst to man, three key factors—drought, dwindling lands, and an emerging brain disease—conspired at the same time to turn the wild boar into one of the most destructive wildlife species in modern history.
Meanwhile, intuitively the boars retreated, waiting.
So too, the vultures.