The razorback hog has a mind of his own; not instinct, but mind - whatever psychologists may say. He thinks. Anybody can see that when he is not rooting or sleeping he is studying devilment. He shows remarkable understanding of human speech, especially profane speech, and even an uncanny gift of reading men's thoughts, whenever those thoughts are directed against the peace and dignity of pigship. He bears grudges, broods over indignities, and plans redreses for the morrow or the week after. If he cannot get even with you, he will lay for your unsuspecting friend. And at the last, hen arrested in his crimes and lodged in the pen, he is liable to attacks of mania from sheer helpless rage.
If you camp out in the mountains, nothing will molest you but razorback hogs. Bears will flee and wildcats sneak to their dens, but the moment incense of cooking arises from your camp every pig within two miles will scent it and hasten to call. You may throw your arm out of joint: they will laugh in your face. You may curse in five languages: it is music to their titillating ears.
(from
Our Southern Highlanders, by Horace Kephart)
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