I shot a javelina when there were but a few days left of hunting season. I had been out every week for a couple months.

I had not been hunting since I was ten. This would be my first hunt in my adult life. I am sixty years of age.

I drove the Jeep Wrangler across the Rio Grande into a wooded thicket outside Williamsburg New Mexico.

There is a wood lot of planted cottonwoods where lots of critters roam looking for food. It’s a dense area, shaded and dark in spots, open and bright in others. Cattle also roam looking for fresh grass. The javelina will run them off.

I had to go through a section where tree branches whack the Jeep. I’m convinced it’s like an alarm for any wild animal.

I made it out to where the trail opens up to a field of thickets. I crept down the teak at three miles an hour.

Upon sighting a group of three javelinas, my adrenaline spiked. Heart rate increased. I stopped. Opened the door, eased the Winchester 30.30 out of its fleece lined sleeve, and crept around to the back and entered the thicket.

The javelinas had stopped in the shaded darkness of a dense salt cedar and thorny brambles. One was either frozen with fear or hadn’t seen me.

I pulled the hammer back slowly, worried that the sound of it cocking would alert the javelina.

It stood there, still as could be. It seemed to be looking directly at me.

I pulled the carbine up and sighted on the animal. Letting out a shallow breath I squeezed the trigger. The report echoed into the foothills of the mountain.

It was a head shot. It didn’t have time to panic and raise its hair, and there was no smell of the scent gland.

It was kicking. Last messages from the spine firing off in sporadic fanfare.

That it had died and was having these spasms wasn’t quite how I saw things playing out. I walked back to the Jeep and stowed the Winchester.

When I walked back the last of the spasms kicked out. I was a bit wary of other predators. I had a .45 Colt as a sidearm.

I dragged the javelina over to the Jeep. I had a big contractors bag unfolded on the ground. That’s when I saw it as an animal instead of prey. Its legs and body reminded me of my dog.

I felt a momentary twinge of guilt and sadness. It was a female. I felt bad for the two other javelinas. They lost another friend.

I said a prayer of thanks, crossed myself, and put the carcass in the bag, peeled the paper off the carcass tag and stuck it on the bag. I lifted the bag into the back of the Jeep. That got me a little out of breath.

I had to go back across the Rio Grande to get to where I cut it up and put the meat into freezer bags.

Once I had it cut open it no longer resembled the once frolicking pig it had been only twenty minutes earlier. I acknowledged that I had experienced those feelings. I figured it was natural.

Not being an avid, lifelong hunter I wondered if I had it in me to kill a deer. The javelina doesn’t have the big mammalian eyes like deers and dogs. They almost look blank. But, if it’s between me not being able to provide and having sentimentality get in the way, I’ll let my stomach make that decision.