The Javalina

The boulders west of Prescott, Arizona, 2002.
This story actually begins in the Ocala Forest in central Florida during a regional Rainbow Gathering. These gatherings can get large, but being held in the National Forest, there was always room to find just the right size crowd. This particular gathering is always held in February, and while the days were nice, the nights can be surprisingly cold. I would have to break in the ice in my little German shepherd’s water bowl each morning we were there. It was this chill in the evening that kept the campers sticking close to the campfires. It was nice to walk along the trail from fire to fire, stopping at each one to warm up before the next leg of the journey. I had come to such a campfire, with about twenty people circled around it, trading stories about where they were from and what the where going to do, or talking about philosophy or religion, or politics, or dreams…seriously, walk around a Rainbow Gathering long enough and you will hear something about everything. On this particular night, at this particular campfire, I came into a conversation about a creature called a Javalina. It was more of a debate really; some thought that it was a giant rat, or possum, as big as a dog – bigger even than my two month old German shepherd puppy, someone gestured to my dog. Someone else said that it was a wild pig. Either way, all sides agreed that it was edible. I did not know what to think, since I had never heard of this creature, but just the idea that there might be a rat as big as a dog made me want to never meet one.
A few weeks later I found myself, and puppy, on the road headed for Southern New Mexico. I was traveling on a friend’s converted bus, and the owner, a Christian Preacher, would pick up hitchhikers; they got a free ride and he talked about Jesus along the way – no one ever turned down the ride.
As I had mentioned, it was winter time, and so no needy person was turned away; the bus was very full and it was so cold outside that we all sleep inside the vehicle at the rest stops, much like a can of sardines, but very grateful sardines. Then, one evening as we were bedding down, I overheard two people talking about javalina, having the exact same discussion as that by the campfire; was the creature a rat or a pig? Each person was steadfast in their own belief, and just like before, both agreed that either way, it was edible.
I was taken by the strange odds that I would know nothing of this creature, and now I was hearing about it from people unknown to me or each other, hundreds of miles apart. I promised myself that as soon as I got to a public library I was going to get to the bottom of this.
A few weeks later I am in the rocks outside of Prescott, Arizona. Some friends and I are having the pleasure of camping in a lodge, or what I knew as a child as a classic teepee. These are extraordinary structures, and this one was large; eight of us slept with room to spare. We had found a lovely spot over looking the city, and after setting up camp we called it a night and turned in.
When I woke I could tell from the opening at the pointed top of the lodge that it was early dawn, but I knew that I had not woken naturally – I had heard something. I remained still and listened, expecting that it was humans, maybe taking an early hike. I strained to hear, but it was silent; not even the birds had stirred yet. Then I heard a noise right next to me on the other side of the lodge’s curved canvas wall. I was shocked that it was so close, but also I knew exactly what the sound was because there is nothing on earth known to man that makes that sound except one thing…it was the undeniable, unmistakable grunt of a pig. My heart raced as I wondered if this was really a javalina. Moving as slowly as I could, yet still moving, I got up. My puppy was still sleeping with the rest, and I crept ever so slowly to the flap that marked the doorway. With all the surgical precision I could muster I slipped through to the outside. My plan was to sneak around the teepee and observe the animal from behind, and to avoid making noise I kept my focus on my feet, dodging twigs and leaves that might rustle and give away my position. But I had only gone a few steps when a movement caught my eye; I looked up and my body froze with equal portions of fear and wonder. Me, and the lodge, were surrounded by a herd of javalina, for I was sure that this is what I was seeing. There must have been thirty of them, of all sizes, from the size of a cat to the size of a dog, but a very big dog. They were all covered in a dense coat of long silver fur that that stood straight from their bodies and could only be called ‘beautiful’. Their fur shimmered in the morning light, and it was wonderful to see, but the fear I was experiencing came from two things; one, they were all motionless, and looking at me, and most have them clearly had tusks. I wasn’t sure whether to run, or yell, or do both when I suddenly heard my baby German shepherd behind me. She must have finally noticed I was gone and now that she had found me, and this heard of wild pigs, she barked madly, furiously, bravely taking a few steps forward, then retreating, then moving forward again, but always behind me. At the first sound of her high pitched puppy bark, the javalina had all started, as though they were going to turn and run, but not one of them took even one step, so unafraid they were. My dog could not believe it, and increased her barking rage, but to no avail. She did however, awaken the rest of the party, and they were coming out now, each expressing their surprise at the vision that met them. Some were familiar with the species and did indeed verify that this was the javalina…pig related, and edible, though no one in the group had ever seen a sight such as this. All the while that we are discussing this, the puppy is barking and javalina are staring. No matter where you looked, except the mountain’s edge behind us, there was a javalina of some size watching us. None of us wanted to break the magical moment, but finally someone said, apologetically,that they had to relieve themselves. We agreed that the moment had to end sometime, and we said our goodbyes to the creatures, waving and speaking in normal tones. We fully expected them to run off, but they did nothing of the sort. If anything, they looked even more interested in us. Someone picked up a rock and tossed it toward them, but instead of frightening them, they ran toward the stone. Then, after a sniff, they turned back toward us.
A few people admitted that they were getting scared, and I think that we all felt that way…this was not how wild animals were suppose to act. We wondered if they were going to attack us. And then the preacher’s dog came outside.
This was an old dog, big and black, and deaf with age. He had not heard the noise we were making outside, and he had just woke up. Seeing the herd of javalina around him and his camp, he let out one great, loud bark. What resulted was a stampede; the javalina were surprisingly agile, leaping over the rock and disappearing into the forest within seconds.
We found out later that the people of Prescott are very good to their javalina, feeding them regularly, and in some cases practically domesticating them. Although we were not camping nearing any houses, it was clear that these creatures were not scared us, so if they were not domesticated they certainly wanted to be.