Darrel Newell
© 2006 All rights reserved
This is a story about a javalina named 'Bruce'
He was large for a javalina and really quite ugly. He
lived in this dry wash in the foothills of the Sanata Catalina Mountains
near the beautiful Hacienda del Sol, residence of the infamous Newells of
Minnesota. Now even a lazy dumb javalina like Bruce had heard of the infamous
Newells of Minnesota and even more amazing he had even heard of their
notorious inlaws, the Sollers. Now these were some bad hombres. Bruce knew
enough to stay away from the Hacienda del Sol or if he did come visiting he
brought presents.
However, one night Bruce had been eating what he thought was prickly
pear, but it was really peyote. Not a good mistake to make. Instead of a
full tummy and a good nights sleep good ole Bruce got a ride to cuckoo
land...he was up, he was down, he was all around. In his drug induced haze
he staggered down the wash, bumping into rocks, trees, and falling face
first in the sand. He was a real mess.
About this time Bruce saw a light. Not realizing it was the Hacienda del
Sol, owned by the infamous Newells of Minnesota, he struggled up the side of
the wash, snorting and squealing as he scraped his belly on some sharp
rocks, and stumbled towards the light. He could barely make out some shadowy
figures as he staggered his way towards the lights, not realizing
the terrible danger he was in!
Now javalina are not exactly the poster boys for deoderant. If
anything they are the 'before' in the deoderant ad. In other words, they
stink. They mark their territory with a scent gland on their back end. All this
marking and no bath (no water) leaves Bruce one evil smelling javalina. So
the folks at the hacienda could not only here the squealing and snorts of
the drugged up javalina, they could smell him. I mean really smell him.
Senor Darrel, of the infamous Newells of Minnesota, sprang into action.
"Linda", he whispers loudly, "get me the 12 guage".
Ever a man of action, this Senor Darrel.
entered the Hacienda del Sol and
shortly returned with the powerful double barreled 12 guage,
Senora Linda slowly stood up and quietly which Senor
Darrel always kept loaded just for situations like this.
Senora Linda handed the man of action the mighty shotgun. Not moving
from his sitting position, he raised the shotgun to his shoulder, pointing
towards the snorting, squealing, stinking javalina, Bruce.
Poor Bruce.
The strong, the speedy, the beautiful (well not very beautiful) javalina faced
almost certain death. Senor Darrel takes careful aim. His finger tightens
on the trigger. Seconds seem like minutes.....
Tune in next week and see if Bruce survives the encounter with the famous
Newells of Minnesota or is there a javalina funeral in his future. Don't
miss the next episode!
Part II
When we left Bruce in episode One, our javalina was in a
real pickle. Drugged up on peyote, he could hardly see,
could hardly think, and he stunk to high heaven as he
dragged his bedraggled body toward the Hacienda del Sol,
home of the infamous Newells of Minnesota. Little did he know
that Senor Darrel sat on the porch with the mighty 12 guage
pointed directly at him and with his finger already
squeezing the trigger! Poor Bruce!
Senor Darrel listened as the horrible snorting and
squealing and the smell got closer. He sat in his chair, for
he seldom got up except to eat or defecate, and waited, his
finger ever squeezing a little harder on the trigger. The
old story about don't shoot til you see the whites of their
eyes ran through his head. Unfortunately Bruce the
javalina's eyes were mostly red and mostly closed in a drug
induced haze.
Senor Darrel leaned foreward slightly in the chair and moved
the barrel of the shotgun at the center of the oncoming
noise. His finger tightened on the trigger and all of a
sudden there was this terrible loud noise and flames shot
from the barrel of the gun into the dark night. Bruce the
javalina stopped immediately in his tracks and proceeded to
defecate. Scared the shit right out of him! His eyes were
blinded by the muzzle flash, his ears ringing from the
noise.
Meanwhile, Senor Darrel, the great white hunter, had fallen
backwards from the 'kick' of the shotgun and was laying on
his back in a heap on the cement patio. For several seconds
Bruce stood frozen in place, all his nerves brought to a
screeching halt by the terrible sound and the bright
flashing light. Meanwhile Senor Darrel lay moaning, out of
breath on his back and trying to roll over and get up and
not shoot himself with the shotgun in the process.
Now javalina are normally very agressive and will attack
when threatened. However Bruce was not a normal javalina at
this point. What eyesight he had was blinded by the shotgun
blast, what hearing he had after the effects of the peyote
was gone , and he was standing in a puddle of his own shit.
Not a pretty picture! In a few seconds, however, his nerves
returned to action and his instinct for self preservation
returned. He turned, slipping in the puddle of shit and
falling down, adding to his already rank smell, stumbled to
his feet and ran blindly back toward the safety of the wash.
He managed to run into what seemed like every cactus and
rock in the world. He reached the edge of the wash and fell
three feet to the bottom on his head, his nose filling with
sand. He snorted wildly to clear his nostrils as he ran up
the wash. From the hacienda the famous Newells of Minnesota
could hear Bruce's progress up the wash from the crashing
noises as he hit another tree, the squealing as he ran into
another cactus and the awful snorting as he tried to clear
his nostrils.
Now javalina normally travel in groups, and Bruce belonged
to such a group. Obviously this group had little or no taste
in that they allowed Bruce to 'hang out' with them, but what
the hell. About a quarter mile up the wash Bruce ran into
his group, all comfortably bedded down for the evening.
"Holy shit, is that you Bruce", said Tony, the leader of
the group. "Where the hell have you been"?
'You'll never believe it", said Bruce as he fell heavily to
the ground and let out a big breath.
"Bruce, you smell like shit", said Tony.
"I'm not surprised", said Bruce, and he proceed to tell Tony
everything he could remember of the events of that evening,
from the peyote, to the drug induced trip down the wash, to
the terrible noise and light he ran into. Meanwhile all the
other javalinas in the group woke up and were listening as
Bruce told the story. Now Bruce was a great story teller.
The javalina group listened with great interest and
responded with gasps and snorts of surprise at the higlights
as Bruce told them. When he told them of the terrible noise
and bright flash of light they were flabbergasted.
"We have to go see this for ourselves", said Tony.
"Oh no, not me again", said Bruce. "Once is enough" .
"Well at least show us where it happend. Lead us there so we can
see this for ourselves", pleaded Tony.
"Well OK, but I have to rest now. Mayber for several days",
said the tired and beatup Bruce.
"I can see that", said Tony. "Lets rest for three days, then
we will all go down and visit this place".
"Yes, yes", said a chorus of other javalinas.
So it was set. Three days and the group of 13 javalina would
march down the wash to the Hacienda del Sol, owned by the
famous Newells of Minnesota. What would they find there?
Will Senor Newell find his way to his feet? Will he take
shooting lessons? Are we going to have a large number of
javalina pork chops in the freezer of the Hacienda del Sol?
Or will the javalina exact revenge on the famous Newells of
Minnesota for their treatment of poor Bruce? Tune in next
time for the further adventures of Bruce the javalina.
Part III
When last we left poor Bruce, he was back with his merry
band of javalina after the hasty retreat down the wash from
the Hacienda del Sol, home of the famous Newells of
Minnesota. Our beat up, scratched up, bleary eyed, stinking
sad sack of a javalina will have permanent scars after that
trip. After telling the whole band of javalina the story of
his wild adventure he fell into a deep, well needed sleep.
Bruce woke up the next morning with the worst headache he
had ever imagined. He was probably the first javalina in
history to experience a peyote hangover together with ten
thousand cactus needle punctures, numberous serious scrapes
and abrasions and a large bump on his head from running into
rocks. He was one hurting javalina!
And was that sun bright!
He immediately dragged his sore body into the shade of the
nearest tree. He lay there on his stomach, red, puffy eyes
half open, staring at nothing in particular.
A while later Bruce noticed Pricilla and two other female
javalina strolling in his direction, acting coy and sexy.
Now the attention of female javalina was a new experience
for Bruce since as javalina go he was more ugly, more
smelly, less smart and less brave than any other male
javalina in the group. No female had given him the time of
day, metaphorically speaking, ever. His DNA did not
pollute the gene pool of this or any other javalina group.
In other words, natures grand plan to assure that the
species does not degrade by interjecting DNA of Bruces
caliber was working great. But.... what was this. Why were
these females, especially the hottest, foxiest javalinain
the bunch, Pricilla, making suggestive moves on our Bruce?
Then it came to him...he was famous! Well as famous as a
wild javalina can be. His adventures and the telling of them
last night had made him FAMOUS. "Wow", he thought, "the
girls are after my bod because of my adventure...I'm like a
damn javalina movie star!"
His hormones started running in high gear. Visions
of 'makin bacon' with the foxy Pricilla flashed through his
low voltage brain. My god, I've got to get after it. He gathered
his feet under him and gave a mighty shove. His body raised
about a foot in the air, then crashed back to the ground...every
muscle in his body ached. There would be no 'makin bacon'
for a while. But Bruce gave Pricilla and the other two girls
a big wink, as befitting a javalina movie star type, and
said "Sorry girls, but my wounds...I'm going to have to take a
rain check". The female javalinas giggled and blinked and
strolled away, looking back at their hero.
Well Bruce lay in mortal misery all day. That first night the
whole group gathered around him again and Bruce told the
story of the visit to the Hacienda Del Sol once more, making
himself a little more of a hero with this telling.
The second night the javalina group gathered around Bruce
again. They just couldn't get enough of the story. Bruce
wasn't sure he could (or should) keep making himself any
more heroic. Pricilla and the other girls hung around Bruce
all day now, rubbing up against him and snorting little
offers in his ears. But poor Bruce, even by the third day
when he could get his body up and walk around, still could
not get his 'bacon makin' equipment up, if you know what I
mean. Bruce was about to go crazy.
Well, at last the time had come...the three days were up and
our hero Bruce was to lead the javalina group to the Hacienda
delSol, home of the famous Newells of Minnesota and the scene
of the adventure that had made Bruce a 'star'. The foxy
Pricilla hardly left his side now and Bruce was 'feeling it'.
He had acquired a cocky John Travolta strut, of course
translated into javalina. This was the best time of
his life.
The group of 13 javalina began the long walk up the wash
just at dusk that third night and before long were traveling
single file under a bright moon light. Bruce and Pricilla in
the lead followed by the real leader, Tony, then the rest of
the group.
Meanwhile, back at the Hacienda del Sol the last three days
had been a regular whirlwind of activity. Senor Newell was
helped to his feet after the comical chair tipping incident,
finally finding his glasses 10 minutes later, luckily
without stepping on them. A quick inspection of body parts
revealed none missing, and only a few hurting.
Most hurt was his pride. That was a terrible shot...missing
a large pig at 15 yards with a shotgun. I sure hope word
doesn't get back to the famous Sollers of Baytown about the
terrible shooting and lack of hunting skills shown that
evening. Maybe he could enroll in Hunting 101 or something.
One thing was sure, however. The javalina would return!
Senor Newell, being an individual of much ingenuity, and
assuming the javalina might return with friends, thought up
a great way to get an early warning of approaching
javalina. Now I know the smell alone would be enought to
find them at 1000 yards, but Senor Newell had a superior high
tech plan...he would encircle the hacienda in string, with little
bells tied to the string at about two feet apart. When
strung out at about a foot off the ground, no javlina could
get close without ringing the bells. Infallable. Now this time
the mighty white hunter would NOT miss!
Also, this time he would sit with his chair up against the
house, so no repeat of the falling on his ass episode could
happen. Any javalina that showed up around the Hacienda del
Sol was going to be one sorry javalina.
Senor Newell had sat in the chair with his mighty 12 guage
in hand for two nights...it was now the third night. Up the
wash crept the 13 unsuspecting javalinas...in the dark sat
the mighty hunter. Surely a recipe for ...?
Tune in next week for Part IV.... does Bruce survice the
ambush at the Hacienda del Sol? Does Senor Newell hit anything
but the ground? Does Bruce 'make bacon' with Pricilla?
Part IV
In the last episode, our hero Bruce the javalina had become a 'star'
in his javalina group, based on his rather imaginative story
telling of the incredible incident at the Hacienda del Sol.
And even more amazing, he had become the focus of attention of
Pricilla, the prettiest female javalina in the bunch. As we join our
hero he is leading the group of thirteen javalina down the wash, to
the Hacienda del Sol, to revisit the site of his life altering
adventure...
The javalina group moved down the wash in what they considered to be
quiet, but to the rest of the world was a cascade of snorts, cracking
branches and high pitched squeals. And then there was the smell, of
which you dear readers are already familiar with. Bruce was leading
the group, walking a bit unsteadily, as his wounds from the mad dash
up the wash three nights ago were just starting to heal. He was
followed closely by the beautiful Pricilla, and then Tony, the real
leader of the group. Tony was one tough, smart javalina, qualities
which were sorely lacking in our hero Bruce. Tony was content to hang
back and let Bruce lead in this case. Fiery explosions,bright lights
and loud noises generally meaning danger and Tony, being smart, would
let our hero Bruce walk into this type of thing first.
It was nearly two in the morning on a bright moonlit night when the
motley band of javalina arrived in the vicinity of the Hacienda del
Sol. Bruce could tell he was in the right area from the blood stains
on several large rocks where he had hit his head in his wild run from
the fierce and mighty hunter, Senor Newell. Bruce turned and signalled
to Tony and the others.
"Hey guys, we are almost here. The big flash and noise came from up
there, near that big brick thing", whispered Bruce, struggling with
the fact there is no word for house in javalina.
"Where do we leave the wash", returned Tony.
"I think its just ahead", replied Bruce, his voice a little shaky as
he realized he was getting closer and closer to the most terrifying
thing he had ever seen. However the beautiful Pricilla rubbed her
snout along his side and Bruce new he had to preserve his cool if he
ever had hopes of 'makin bacon' with her. So he summoned up the
courage for a few more steps. He turned back to the group.
"There's the path out of the wash", whispered Bruce, as the thirteen
smelly, ugly javalina gathered around him. Bruce took a deep breath
then took a couple quick steps up the path then stopped suddenly. The
other twelve javalina bumped clumsily into each other as they tried to
stop.
"Damn you, Bruce", "Dumb shit", "Ouch", were heard from among the
javalina as they stepped on each others feet and bumped the javalina
ahead of them in the butt with their sharp tusks.
"What the hells the matter with you Bruce", loudly whispered Tony.
"I thought I heard something", said Bruce.
Bruce of course was right. He had heard something. The gentle night
breeze was causing the little bells on the string encircling the
Hacienda del Sol to tinkle very softly. Now javalina do not have much
experience with bells and were not sure quite what to make of them.
The sound was very soft and didn't seem at all threatening. Of course
they did not know of the nasty reception planned for them by the
mighty hunter, Senor Newell.
"Get your butt moving, Bruce", whispered Tony loudly, and from the
group came mutterings of an uncomplimentary nature about Bruce and his
sudden stop and what would happen if he did it again.
So our hero Bruce started up the path again, getting more and more
scared as he got further up the wall of the wash. He kept slipping on
the loose rocks and sand, falling on his still sore and injured snout.
He was not a happy camper. He silently cursed the fact that he had
ever told the story and especially that he had agreed to bring
everybody back to the place it had happened. The javalina had reached
level ground now and were moving between the cacti, following our
hero. All of a sudden Bruce stopped again suddenly.
"Son of a bitch, Bruce", "You moron", and many more colorful ephitets
floated forward from the pack of javalina as once again they stepped
on each other and poked each other with their tusks.
"What now?" whispered Tony angrily.
"I heard a noise from up there near the square thing", whispered Bruce
hoarsly.
"Well what the hell was it", whispered Tony impatiently.
"It sounded like our snorts but longer, much longer", replied Bruce.
What our hero had heard of course was the mighty hunter Senor Newell
doing what he does best, snoring. Sitting on the patio in the quiet of
the evening is very condusive to the 'sleep thing', especially with
the radio along side you playing softly. However, the mighty 12 guage
shotgun accross Senor Newells lap was a reminder of the serious nature
of the vigil.
Bruce took several steps forward and promptly ran into the bell laden
string. Immediately there was a loud ringing, then lots more as the
string became entangled in Bruces tusks as he swung his head around.
Soon two more javalina had become entangled in the string.
"Damn it", said Bruce.
"Bruce, you moron, what are you doing", snorted Tony.
Now the bells were ringing like crazy...enough even to wake up
the mighty hunter, Senor Newell. He woke with a start, his arm jerking
out, swinging over and bumping into the volume control of the
radio, turn it up to full volume. From the radio came the theme song
of that famous John Travolta dance movie, "Dance Fever". At full
volume no less!
The graceful Senor Newell stumbled to his feet, tripped over the chair
leg, and fell to the patio floor in a heap, dropping the mighty 12
guage, which upon hitting the cement floor fired a shotgun blast into
the roof of the patio. The flame from the gun shot created a white
well as Senor Newell. Shingles flew, dust billowed up, and the
frigtened herd of javalina swirled around, twisting themselves into
the bell string and ringing the bells even more.
And the music was so loud!
Just then the automatic patio outdoor floodlights came on,
illuminating this truly bizarre scene.
Senor Newell sprawled on his face on the floor, glasses having
fallen off, the smoking shotgun laying in front of him, and facing him
at the end of the patio were 13 agitated, completely bewildered
and shell shocked javalina.
Now javalina, stinking like dead skunks, with red eyes and ugly
faces and big long, sharp tusks, are not anything you want 10 feet
from you when you are face down on the floor, feet tangled up, out
of breath and half asleep. One javalina would be frightening enough,
but 13 of them! A warm wet stream began to run and puddle under the
not so intrepid Senor Newell.
Now it is a little known fact, known only to a few (very few)
scientists that have taken (wasted) any time studying the javalina,
that javalina have a great sense of rhythm, an inborn need to move to
music. Since they hardly ever hear music, this fact was indeed little
known.
But what do we have here! Music, loud music, the famous Travolta
strut music yet.
Our porcine hero, Bruce, could not help himself. In spite
of the intense fright created by the gunshot in the middle of the
night, the ensnarement in thousands of bells and being in terrible
physical shape from his flight down the wash three days ago, he starts
to move to the music. His head starts bobbing, his butt starts
swaying, all in perfect time to the music. His eyes close and he looks
heavenward as the rhythm flows through his body.
Soon the foxy Pricilla begins to move also, then Tony, and soon all 13
of the javalinas are swaying and stepping to the beat of the song.
By some form of dance instinct they begin to organize and synchronize.
Amazingly, they form two lines, with six javalina in each, with Bruce
out in front by himself. Their little hooves operate in perfect time
with each other and with the music. The javalina begin lifting their
two front legs in unison and making little rowing motions, then
dropping back to the floor, making two side steps left, two side steps
right, then raising their chubby little front legs and making the
rowing motion again. What a sight...the dancing javalina herd in
perfect synchronization, the light gleaming off their tusks as
they raise their front legs to row...it took your breath away.
A completely bewildered Senor Newell lay in the cooling wettness
beneath him and slipped on his glasses to see this amazing scene
clearer.
Bruce was really getting into it now, doing a 360 twirl while making
the rowing motion. Pricilla broke from the first row of dancing
javalina and joined Bruce out front. They whirled, bumped butts, rowed
arms at each other and bowed and swayed, perfectly in time with the
music. One could almost see the white jackets and white pants appear
on the dancing javalina and see their coarse javalina hair
become combed back with Brylcream. He couldn't help it...Senor Newell
began to tap his toe inside the cold wet leg of his pants.
Just then a half awake Senora Newell appeared at the sliding glass
door of the house and looked at the scene before her. Her jaw
dropped, and she shook her head furiously. I got to be having
the wierdest dream.
The music picked up, the javalina got even more energetic in their
dancing, rising to a full scale climax ... steps left, steps right,
row your front legs, tap the floor...steps, steps, row, tap...steps,
steps, row, tap...the beat and sound of the javalina hooves on the
patio, pertectly in time to the music, was almost hypnotic. All of a
sudden the javalina stopped, exactly on beat, with our Bruce and
the beautiful Pricilla in a deep javalina bow. Senor Newell and
Senora Newell couoldn't help it...they started clapping.
Tune in next week for Part V.... do Bruce and the dancing javalina get
booked on the Letterman show? Does Bruce become the new talk show host
of the right wing, replacing Rush Limbaugh? Does Senor Newell dry off
and regain his composure?