HOG PEN SHOOTOUT
I grew up in the mountains of Washington State and learned the values of my grandfather. Life took strong people and hard work to survive. Certain values were held as the way of life and these were taught to me. Later in life, I moved to the big city and people objected to my values. They were insistent that the law should handle any problems and I was wrong to defend myself.
These ideas never seemed to work and I saw crime climb till it took over neighborhoods. When faced with this and the failure of police, I began to work on the problem without using violance. I found that embarrassing the drug dealers by making them publicly visible sent them packing to other areas. Most criminals or want to be's have trouble dealing with psychological problems so I applied this too, and soon my neighborhood didn't have as many problems as did other neighborhoods.
When I moved to West Virginia to farm and get back to my beginnings, I brought this city idea that the law should handle the problems and those who present them. When the law here made it quite clear that they were not going to arrest their friends and family to protect me, I knew my grandfather's values were what was needed. So I began to fortify the farm and make it clear to all that I would respond when any action was directed towards me. I use non-harmful tactics or psychological means to respond and this has proven successful.
But sometimes a real bad boy just doesn't get it so you have to deal directly and quickly with them so they get the message. Such it was one Saturday morning when I was home alone. I had just fixed myself three fried eggs, a whole pound of homegrown bacon, and a heaping mound of greasy hashbrowns and had settled on the front porch to enjoy. My hog pen is almost a quarter mile from the house but in view of my breakfast and I could just see the hogs digging in the pen. Up the drive along side my hog pen came one of the local bad boys, riding on his want-to-be Harley.
He stopped at the neighbor's house bordering the drive and talked to her for a few moments. Then he started the bike and turned around, facing down the drive towards the main road. I kept filling my mouth as I intently watched what was happening. The bad boy pulled out a pistol and fired three quick shots towards my hogs, then raced away down the drive across the bridge and away towards town. The neighbor had stood on the porch and watched this, then went into the house. Since the neighbor is family, I knew there would be no call to the law.
"Ah shit", I muttered. Now instead of finishing my breakfast I would need to go check on the hogs. I went into the house to get my hoglegs(45 cal.) and tucked them into my belt. I grabbed a coat and hat and started for the hog pen. As I got closer, I noticed the neighbor watching me through her window, Now I was sure I had a dead hog. I quickened my pace, dreading a shot hog that I would need to put down or get out of the pen before the other hogs became mad with the blood. When I finally arrived the hogs were hiding inside the shelter and were all OK. Now I felt stupid. This had been yet the latest in a long line of setups just get me away from my house, All too familiar, I thought.
I heard a motorcycle coming from town and it came to mind that it was heading towards my house. But it slowed instead as it down shifted, It was coming to the bridge, could it really be coming right back to the neighbor's. Pretty nervy to come back for seconds! I stepped behind the hog shelter and waited.
The bad boy rode up to the neighbors house turning the bike back towards the bridge and stopped. I stepped from behind the hog shelter and saw the bad boy pointing his pistol towards the hog pen as the neighbor was rushing out the door to warn him. The first bullet kicked up dirt in the pen and I pulled the hoglegs from my belt. The second bullet showered the hog shelter with dirt and I pulled back the hammers.
Suddenly he noticed me standing there, the neighbor yelling his name over the din of backfire and gunfire. I squeezed the triggers and the 45's roared. Dirt flew from the ditch below his feet. His third shot went wild in the air and his face was suddenly filled with fear. I thumbed the hammers back again and squeezed the triggers, again dirt flew from the ditch below his feet. The neighbor turned towards the doorway and ran face first into the now closed door.
The bad boy tried to get the motrocycle to move but the pistol prevented giving it the gas needed, so it only moved slowly forward. I thumbed back the hammers again and touched the triggers. The sound was deafening and the slugs threw grass and dirt towards the bad boy, who was now using his feet and gas to get the motorcycle moving.
Suddenly the gas caught and away went the motorcycle with the bad boy hanging on for his life, pistol waving from the handlebars. I thumbed back the hammers again and touched the triggers, putting the slugs into the ditch bank. The motorcycle made it to the bridge, throttle wide open, throwing gravel and roaring for escape. All the while the bad boy was hanging on for his life, knowing the devil was a coming.
I thumbed back the hammers and again squeezed the triggers, but it was just noise now and the sound was the devils voice to the bad boy. He had no control of the motorcycle as it crossed the bridge, leaping across the road and swaying wide into the ditch, then the bank before dropping to its side still roaring. I thumbed back the hammers one more time and squeezed the triggers, as the bad boy tried to right his motorcycle. Luck was with him and he quickly mounted and raced down the road towards town even as the hoglegs clicked on empty. I walked across the field to the road and turned toward the bridge, There in the road was a 9mm auto, pistol. Well, at least I got something out of the gun fight and I picked it up. Never had much use for these fancy toys, but they tell me ammo is cheap and it was almost free. Hope my breakfast isn't cold, I thought as I headed back to the porch.
