Two Beards, you sound about as lucky as my snot-nosed little brother. Were you born with a horseshoe around your neck, or a four-leaf clover in your ear? Awesome buck... a lot of people hunt their whole lives without seeing one of those big boys.

I know it' s not a hog-hunting forum, but here' s the story of my first big game with a gun:

So I' m 10 years old, and my dad wants me to draw blood during my first season (y' know, keeping a kid' s interest and all that), so he takes me out stalking hogs. I don' t know if any of y' all hunt like this, but basically you have the 80 degree Florida fall, with thick, tangled planted pines. You still-hunt your way from row to row looking for fresh rooting. Well, my dad found the thickest, nastiest planted pines this side of the Amazon, and off we went, looking for hogs.

We finally came upon an area that was seriously dug up by the big tuskers. It was pretty fresh, too, so, keeping the wind in our faces, we tried to find where they were now. Before long we found a group of them - three or four bigger hogs, and a mess of little ' uns. They were of plenty big size to live on their own, though, so we didn' t deal with them in our decision making. Dad found the biggest of the hogs, and told me to line it up.

So I raised my single-shot 12 gauge, put the bead on the big hog' s head, and squeezed. At the shot, the hog went down (00 buck to the head, go figure). My dad, as excited dads are apt to do, yelled ' Great shot!' and slapped me on the back. He started running toward the hog, and I figured that was the thing to do. So I started running up to where the hog was - about 30 yards or so.

Those who are paying attention: what did I not do?

Just then, the hog finds new life and stands up. Of 360 degrees it could choose to run, which direction? That' s right, towards 10-year-old me. What had I not done? Reloaded my single-shot 12 gauge. So I' m five yards from a charging hog, with a useless metal stick in my hands. My dad' s yelling ' Shoot!' , but of course I have nothing to shoot with.

I turn to run, but here' s the situation: ' husky' ten year old in rubber boots running through torn-up mud and grass. Think about how the land looks when a mine goes off. I' m desperately trying to run in knee-high rubber boots through the most uneven, sticky piece of ground you' ll ever see. I stumble, the barrel of my gun gets planted into the mud, and I fall on my face. I spin, look at the charging hog, and say a prayer. There was nothing that could save me.

Nothing except the hog giving up the ghost, which it did just as it was about to trample me! Just before it reached me, it veered right and fell on its side.

The hog, of course, was dead as a doornail. But that didn' t keep it from teaching me a lesson. From that day forward, I have known how to reload my gun (whatever it may be) faster than anyone else I know. Single-shot, pump, bolt, lever, it doesn' t matter. That animal' s getting a second shot faster than it can think to run.

My dad spent an hour and a half dragging that hog out of the woods, but I don' t think he minded. [8D]

This is good stuff! How ' bout some more?