Dear (name deleted):
I received your message indicating surprise and disappointment with your final grade this semester. In your message, you said “I did miss several days in your class. I did not mean to miss but I was just going through so much this semester with a death in my family, my house got robbed, fired from my job for being 10 minutes late and my good friend died so i [sic] am sorry for that.”
I am sorry, too. I am particularly sorry that I was hog hunting in South Carolina and was, therefore, unable to respond immediately to your rather pathetic little missive. But before I get to the solution to your problem, let me share with you some of the details of my hunt. After you hear those details, you may decide that you are interested in an extra credit assignment designed especially for you, your special needs, and your fragile feminine feelings.
Yesterday was my first experiment with the Southern tradition of hunting deer by running dogs – I generally prefer to “still hunt” in a deer stand. After wading through a half a mile of swamp (sometimes knee deep) I arrived at a spot that allowed me access to three shooting lanes at the edge of a break in the woods. I sat down on a fallen tree, removed my boots, and dumped the swamp water out in the hopes of getting my toes unfrozen (just in case I had to chase a wounded animal).
About ninety minutes into the hunt, I saw a large black mass that appeared to be a dog paddling across a stream as I watched over my right shoulder. When it got out of the water, I realized it wasn’t a dog. It was a wild boar that weighed about 200 pounds. The boar cut immediately to his left and started heading down a break in the woods that opened up just nineteen yards in front of me.
My heart was pounding because I knew that when he saw me he would want to kill me just as badly as I wanted to kill him. Clearly, within a few moments someone or something was going to die. With a round of three-inch magnum 12-gauge ammunition in the barrel of my Benelli, I aimed at the break in the woods. When he presented me with a broadside shot (his head and neck were blocked by a tree) I hit him with all fifteen pellets of lead.
Just as soon as that boar cut across the open area I was hit with a huge surprise. Another 200-pound boar was right behind him. I kept my composure and fired a fatal shot into the first boar’s gut. He managed to run about thirty yards before I heard him crash in the woods. The second boar cut across my path and headed into a dry portion of the woods. I ran after him only about eight yards into the woods (until I got wrapped up in briars and brush). I had to let that sweating slab of bacon go and start the search for his dead companion.