Bubba Broussard and I were driving to Rick Haney’s ranch for a Quail hunt and Houston to Abilene, Texas, is a pleasant 6 hour drive, counting a stop to grab something to eat. It’s funny how friends can talk for hours and not cover the same subject. This was one of those times.

Asking Bubba, “Have you ever heard of The Gift”, he replied, “What’s that?” I went on to tell him that some of my Aunts on my Dad’s side told me that I may have “The Gift”. My Dad’s family is three-fourths Irish, the Bryan’s stemming from Brian deBouf, the thirteenth century Irishman who united the island and became Ireland’s first King.

I continued, we were O’Brians until dispossessed by the British, forced to change the spelling of our names, and just made it to the New World in the late 1600’s, barely escaping the English hangman’s noose. Old Gaelic traditions die hard.

Closing I told him that having “The Gift” enables me to “witch” for water, and over half of the time when I’m about to receive a phone call, something internal tells me who is calling before the phone rings. In dreams, I’ve been visited by deceased relatives, and Brad calls this “Post Cards From Heaven”. Also, my hands are thick. This has something to do with it too.

Bubba’s answer to me, “Man, I never knew you were that strange!”

Mike Mitchell and I went up to help Rick rework his cattle pens, and after a long day and evening finally ate and went to bed late. I was awakened from a sound sleep, hearing the “thunk, thunk” of something walking around the porch. The weather was warm as I knocked on the door and went into Rick’s room.

The AC was on full blast and the lump under a pile of covers must be Rick. “You hear that sound, someone walking around your porch?” I almost whisper. He uncovers, I notice a watch cap on his head, rises up and replies, “What sound? Animals, I’m sure.” Blaming animals again?

Thinking to myself, how could he hear anything covered up like he was, with the AC roaring and his watch cap on. Later that morning we talked of the “thunking” I had heard and Rick said again, “It’s just those ‘Dillos rooting around.”

The next day more work on the cattle pens, and after steaks, we talked a while and turned in early and I finally found out why Rick had such strange sleeping habits.

Tonight, just like last night was warm, and I wasn’t even covering with a sheet, when I wake up with a start! What’s going on here, I’m freezing! Then I notice the foot of the bed is leaning and I sense that something/someone is setting on the end of the bed. What’s going on I ask myself, could this be a ghost, no way, I don’t even believe in ‘em!

Still freezing I say to the “whatever”, “I’m not afraid of you. I am a Christian and you don’t scare me!” Then something really strange happened, whatever it was on the end of the bed got up, I could feel the end of the bed rise as if a load was removed, the “whatever” moved away and the room returned to a normal temperature. Personally, “it” never bothered me again.

The next morning, when Rick and I had a chance to talk alone, I told him about my encounter the past night. His reply was, “I don’t want to hear it.” He was uncomfortable I could tell, but I went on with the entire story. He replied, “I have heard things go “bump” in the night before, but I have to sleep out here three or four nights a week. Why do you think I run the AC all year, even in freezing weather, wear a watch cap and cover up with all of those quilts? I really don’t want to talk about it.”

End of story, or so I thought!

Before Christmas, 1988, Brad was home on leave from Ft. Knox, and along with my son-in-law, Mike Mitchell, we loaded up my Suburban and headed for Rick’s ranch. Rick had called during the week and said that a number of, Hogs had been rooting up one specific field and tearing up his fences. He had asked us for some assistance in “controlling” them. For mid December the weather was very warm. Short sleeves in Houston and just long sleeves in Abilene, but Rick mentioned, “A good “norther”is headed our way Sunday.”

Friday morning found us checking out some corn, bait, that we had helped Rick put out the night before. The Hogs had visited the corn during the night so we headed south to the Hog’s “favorite” field and sure enough, about 6oo yards across the field we saw them and began a roundabout stalk, trying to use the brush along the fencerows for cover. The last 100 yards was wide open so Mike took a shot, Boom, and the Hogs, 4, 200 pounders, were off and running, one considerably slowed by a pretty good hit from the .257 Roberts.
Mike hurried to retrieve his prize and Brad, Rick and I took off after the Hogs. We were all in good shape but after about a half-mile, it was no contest, with the Hogs easily outdistancing us and making it to the safety of an adjoining ranch and us with no permission to offer “hot pursuit”.

We put out more corn that night and with steaks cooked over Rick’s old timey, fired brick, bar-b-que pit, planned our next mornings hunt. We would split up in twos with Mike and Rick approaching the bait from the south flushing the Hogs north, providing Brad and me, stationary east of the hogs, we thought a 50 to 100 yard running shot. No problem with the iron sights Brad and I were using, but our planning didn’t include the cold front hitting a day early.

In fact the front hit just before sun up with the wind howling from the north and the temperature dropping like a rock. We had been dressed and eating breakfast when it hit so this required a quick addition of long johns to our apparel.

Out into the teeth of the storm we go and set up our ambush and waited for the Hogs. Our wait was a short one and the Hogs, probably 10 or more, exploded from the bait and scattered, headed toward the northwest, except for one that was headed our way.

Brad and I were about 5 yards apart and here came a Hog, a 200 pounder, right at me and I was square in the middle of his path of escape. Brad couldn’t swing on it for fear of hitting me and all I could do was get ready. The Hog charged closer and I put the sight on its nose, tracked down with its movement and the .223 cal., Ranch Rifle, Boomed and the Hog rolled right at my feet! The shot hit right above the Hog’s eyes and thinking back, I would have gotten “rolled up” by him if I had missed!

After another chase, Brad collected a nice one out of the bunch and we called it a day. With the “norther” howling, we cleaned the 2 and then loaded all three on to the luggage rack of the Suburban, tied them down securely for the almost 300 mile drive to Houston, bid Rick a fond good bye and headed out.

We had a tail wind all the way home, but the cold followed us and turned into sleet and rain by the time we arrived at my northwest Houston home and found to our surprise that our Hogs were frozen solid. Hopefully, we’d process them the next day.

I even had a water pipe freeze that night!

There were no unusual sounds or sightings on Friday night.

The spring before Brad joined the Army, he and I went up to help Rick repair his barn and, since it was very comfortable for early spring, both nights we slept out on the “sleeping porch”. The screened in porch was on 2 sides of Rick’s old ranch house. I noticed that Rick was sleeping with his AC roaring, but said nothing to him about it. Maybe it covered up our snoring!

The next morning, sunrise found us along a creek, in a makeshift blind, making hen Turkey sounds. Brad leans over to me and whispers, “Dad, did you hear those animals bumping around under Rick’s house last night?” Whispering back, “Yes, Son. It sounded like someone walking around the porch, or a herd of ‘Dillos!” (‘Dillos is Texican for Armadillo.) I continued “They were “bumping” right around my bed.”

The second night there was more “bumping around” but barely waking, we both slept right through it. As we were leaving for Houston, I mentioned to Rick, “You need to trap those animals under your house and close up where they are getting in.” His short reply was, “I’m going to.”