Rik is leaving out a few details. I was in the vicinity, as they say.
Seems he put the sneak on a sleeping pig on a hillside, couldn't figure north from east and shot it in the arse. Pig took exception to the bother, jumpt up and the call to "loose the hounds" echoed from the hillside across the way. Mad dog pursuit and mad pig quandry resulted in an empty quiver and a pig looking for relief from torment. Rik, being primary tormentor, turned into focal point of pig aggression and subsequent dancing with the stars moment.
Rik is kind of a drama queen and since he can still type with both hands, the outcome is obvious.
My story, on the other hand, has real merit. I'm pretty sure this is somewhere in the tradgang archives.
We were hunting down in south Texas on a friends place, something we do infrequently but enough times to kill the winter blues from Idaho. I had just finished up a blown stalk on some pigs and went to find John, who was sitting on a feeder they use down there to bring pigs in, and he said he hit a small one in the guts. The phrase "a little far back" is what most bowhunters use. We followed the trail it went down and actually found quite a bit of blood. Not to give up on good sign, we got into a few acres of wolf brush, they call it, and it is a few tunnels of pig trails with the brush about waist high. John eventually found his arrow. It was sticking out into a trail, but had a rhythm to it. Up and down. He said "There is my arrow, but I can't see the pig" and I said step off to the side and shoot it again right where the arrow is. Well, the pig didn't like the irritation any and made a run at John, who promptly fell over backwards, out of sight. I was in the trail a few feet away, and the pig adjusted his focus and came down the trail I was on and hit me on the knees. Of course I went over backwards. Pig then backed up and tried to get by me one more time, but I was too quick and kicked him in the head whereupon he bit a hole in my left boot and got on top of me like an old girlfriend back in the sixties at a drive in movie. Eventually he moved on and I was covered in blood, but it was all pig blood and my shooting glove to this day is still stained brown. We called it a morning, went and got breakfast with our friends, came back later and the pig was sill alive and charged one more time. In the end it was a 125 pound black boar.
Before we left Texas, we stopped for breakfast in a nearby town, and the waitress asked "Are you the Idaho folks who the pig got?"