"COCHON—CHIEN"

Taupo Times, Volume I, Issue 21, 4 June 1952, Page 3

"COCHON—CHIEN"

AND THE BLACK MONSTER True story, but names used are fietitious)

(By

T.P.)

Pale moonlight and a launch anchored at one of Lake Taupo's Western Bays. Suddenly from inshore among the scrub came the staccato barking of dogs. "Oh ^.drat!" muttered Keith Scarrick to his son Nigel, "They must have found a wild pig." Both men wero ready to turn into their bunks, but they would never leave their pets to face the danger of a savage bohr alone. Now, in France, anyone /who calls a man a dog (chien) is asking for a black eye. As for pig (cochon) one would be challenged to a duel. But the words cochon-chien, meaning pigdog, would invite swift murder. Whieh goes to show that not many Frenchmen have been out hunting in Taupo and diseovered that the pigdog is by far the most staunch and courageous animal in all the world. Keith and Nigel dressed swiftly, laced up their boots, collected torch guns and knives, and leaping ashore, they hurried towards the sound of barking. There a shock awaited them when Keith flashed his torch. The batteries were low but in the dim light they saw a horrible black monster; an outsize wild board, big as a pony but repulsively hideous and ferociously snarling. He was a terrifying apparition; yet the dogs kept him surrounded and bailed up. Nigel called them off and shone the torch while Keith raised his rifle and fired. But the light was too faint, he missed and the huge boar charged straight at him. In Spain, bullfighters reeeive frantic ovations for their skilful movements, but there was no one to applaud the two men as they sprang so swiftly apart to avoid the animals sharp curved tusks. The boar shot through between them; instantly the dogs gave chase. And all night long, through scrub and bush, they kept on the hunt. Thrice again the dogs bailed up the pig, the torch became dimmer, shots failed, and three times more the huge brute charged at the men. Onee they were very nearly caught. Finally, away in the distanec, they heard a loud splash. The men listened. Then there were two smal1 splashes. Racing to the place they found that the dogs had driven the boar over a river bank and followed. They were attempting to drown the pig, but eventually he made for the opposite shore and crawled into the scrub. The stream was too deep for the men to follow. Nigel ran down the river-edge for two miles. At the outlet, he took their dingy and rowed back, and when both men were across, they parted the scrub and found the black monster lying wounded and exhausted but' still able to snap and snarl at the dogs. As Keith crept up slowly he saw a hind leg sticking out, and grabbing it, he dragged the pig downhill into ajn open space, where Nigel shot it at close range. The carcase was far too heayy for the men to lift, so propping the boat up on one side, they rolled the porker down the slopes and levered it in. By now it was breaking daylight and when they reached the river-mouth, campers were out fishing in the lake for the early morning trout-rise. All said that they had never seen so large a wild boar. Now, if the huge and hideous head had been cured, mounted, and sent to the Louvre in Paris; Venus de Milo might topple from her pedestal, the Winged Victory would probably take immediate flight, but in time the words 'cochon-chien' meaning pig-dog; considered at present the worst insult; might become in time, the highest compliment that fone could pay in France.