It looked simple enough. But it was not simple. Nor was it
safe.
In the first instance, pigs were hard to start running. Oftener
than not they would stand, braced, and glare at the oncoming
collie from out their evil little red-rimmed eyes; the snouts
above the hideous masked tushes quivering avidly. That meant Lad
must circle them, at whirlwind speed; barking a thunderous
fanfare to confuse them; and watching his chance to flash in and
nip ear or flank; or otherwise get the brutes to running.
And, even on the run, they had an ugly way of wheeling, at close
quarters, to face the pursuer. The razor tushes and the pronged
forefeet were always ready, at such times, to wreak death on the
dog, unless he should have the wit and the skill and the speed to
change, in a breath, the direction of his dash. No, pigs were not
pleasant trespassers. There was no fun in routing them. And there
was real danger.
Except by dint of swiftness and of brain; an eighty-pound collie
has no chance against a six-hundred-pound pig. The pig's hide,
for one thing, is too thick to pierce with an average slash or
nip: And the pig is too close to earth and too well-balanced by
build and weight, to be overturned: And the tushes and forefeet
can move with deceptive quickness.
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