ARNOLD...From the pen of Bill Axbey.
The first time I met Arnold he was wandering about his owner' farm. I had been warned about him and although I was prepared for his peculiar habits, I still got a bit of a shock.
.. I believe he had been found in a nest and brought home in a hunters shirt with a couple of others. With good food and 'pet' status, he grew into a sizable pig, then, as he escaped the bacon factory (due to pet status)into a large boar, and finally as time went on, into a huge one. He was sort of sandy grey with massive shoulders and a head armed with about 130 millimetre tusks. I would say he weighed about 180 kilograms. Every year he was turned out into the bush with at the back of the property to run with a small group of wild brethren. Once all that nonsense was over, he returned to the farm and became a human again. I am sure that was his problem - he really didnt know he was a pig.
He loved people, and at the most distant sound of a human voice he would make all speed to have his back scratched, play chase and have his ears pulled. Now, that was alright if you knew about Arnold beforehand, but if you were a bush walker, or just city folks pinching mushrooms or blackberries the sight of a gaint wild boar rushing toward you with his bristles up, grunting and frothing at the mouth, was just a bit much. Arnold loved a game of chase - almost as much as scratch - and especially enjoyed it when the people he met joined in his game with great speed and alacrity. Trampers and bush walkers, in particular, he found were really good fun, although they generally wernt as fast as mushroom pickers, who, out in the open as it were, often got a head start on him.
In the bush he was right among them before they knew what it was they could hear coming. he nearly always managed to catch with a couple and pass them, then they would all rush back the other way and start climbing trees. Nobody actually died of a heart attack, although I couldnt blame them if they had. There were plenty of barbed wire tears, as city folk summed up reserves normally held for runs on banks, catching the last bus, or pedestrian crossings. Arnolds owner said he was amazed at the turns of speed and fence jumping ability held in reserve by most city folk.
On one occasion he was prunning trees near the back bush. When he turned off the chaisaw he became aware of a paculiar sort of wailing coming from the native patch. Having a fair idea what it might be all about, he went to the bush edge and whistled. In a few minutes Arnold appeared, frothing with joy at the thought of having his back scratched and, after a good old scrape with a broken batten, he was put back in the paddock.
His owner went off to see what all the noise was about and found 11 trampers up a couple of trees, all yelling and warning him about a hugh wild boar that was running around below. It took him about half an hour and a couple of false starts that had the first few down then back up again before you could say Jack Robinson. They finally all left, stepping on each others heels with eyes swivelling like crayfish. The thing that amazed Arnolds boss was that the oldest trampers were the highest in the trees-he was sure there was some moral in it somewhere. But he refrained from explaining to them Arnolds true status in the scheme of things.
