Stranger,
Hey, now you’re talkin’. But first, please do realize that the “renegade Jerseys” take a poor second to the “marauding Holsteins” when it comes to the big five we have out here in the heartland. Add in the “man-eating rabbits” (you’ve seen Monty Python’s “Search for the Holy Grail?”), the “attack turkeys” and those cleverest of thieves, the “rambling raccoons” and you’ve got the makings of a survival of the fittest lifetime experience. The groundhog could also be included, but anything whose “charge” gives you time to take a nap really isn’t in the top five category.
Some may snicker, but when you’ve been hit in the head by a fully grown Holstein’s tail that is embedded with hardened “you know what”, you know what the knights of old experienced with their maces. When you consider milking is required morning and nighttime and the flys bite and “hardened” tails swat, it can be ####. The raccoons have the conspicuous advantage of being twice as smart as any living **** sapiens and will leave you naked of food and clothing if you blink an eye.
As for the required firearm caliber, if you have what it takes to risk getting close to the beast, the ever popular, but heavy recoiling .22 rimfire will do the job. Others will object, saying .410 to 12 gauge is the choice of experienced folks. I do have an actual experience that suggests a 25lb bow and cheap target arrows wouldn’t do the job. I was in the barn practicing (12yrs. old) with my trusty 25lb. bow and cheap target arrows when I hear a strange rustling outside. Stuck my head out the barn door and saw a corn stalk shaking pretty hard – looked again and saw a ground hog that was attempting to get an ear of corn for breakfast. Well, pulled back my trusty bow and let fly – hit the devil beast square in the back and the arrow bounced off, d___ animal didn’t even look around. Pull back to maximal length and again the arrow bounced off. The ground hog finally waddled down the stock was sauntered off.
Another time (still 12yrs. old), my dad told me there was a runt pig out in the alfalfa field that wasn’t going to “make it” and I should take care of it. “Taking care of it” in those days meant taking it by the hind legs and hitting it against the building. Well, I couldn’t do that then (and I still couldn’t do it) so I got my umpteen shot .22 pistol to do the job. First shot hit the poor little devil in the ear and it took off through the alfalfa field with me right behind – emptied the revolver twice and never got the little fella. Dad just shock his head, said to go back to my chores and he’d take care of it. Neither one of us ever said a thing about it and I went to school and the big city and never had to worry about runt pigs again.
Dan "ex-farm boy" K.
(Edited by DOK at 3:11 pm on Sep. 26, 2001)
(Edited by DOK at 3:12 pm on Sep. 26, 2001)