For the thousands of readers who fell in love with Doc McCormack and the farmers, cattlemen, and moonshiners of Choctaw County in Fields and Pastures New and A Friend of the Flock, The Hero of the Herd is like coming home to old friends. There's Carney Sam Jenkins, the county's amateur vet/taxidermist, with his stock diagnosis of "kidneyitis"; Bob "Sinkin" Jenkins, a 250-pound tough-as-nails hog farmer and "Olympic champion fainter" who can barely stand the sight of blood; and Goat, the mailman who doubles as the town gossip. There are new folks too--the McCormacks' infant son, Paul; J.B. and Pool Do, the best hired hands in the state of Alabama; and one especially fractious piglet named Fred. There are even some big changes--like the new color television behind the counter at Miss Ruby McCord's Grocery and Service Station. But it's still the same Choctaw County, where late-night calf deliveries keep Doc up past his bedtime, where the local barbershop is the place to catch up on all the news, and where your best friends and neighbors are always just a holler away.
Of course, our coveralls were wet and covered with mud, and, as expected, there was a problem with one hard-core resister. That particular hog had apparently decided he wanted no part of the surgical procedure and had somehow evaded capture by scaling the short fence and retreating back down the hill into the swamp.
Suddenly a grim-faced Buck beelined toward the escapee, who was taking a breather in the deepest, gummiest part of the lot. When he came to within about ten feet of the porker, Buck made a flying tackle and landed atop the surprised pig. The resulting chaos was worthy of national television coverage. In spite of their giggling, Everett and John piled on the wallowing duo. In the process of trying to jump and run through the mud, I lost both of my knee-high rubber boots. When it was all over, we stood staring at the scene for several minutes. Never had I seen such a sight. All we needed were several fires burning, smoke spiraling upward, and the scene would have been reminiscent of a Civil War movie not long after the Yankees had marched through the farmsteads outside Atlanta.
Of course, our coveralls were wet and covered with mud, and, as expected, there was a problem with one hard-core resister. That particular hog had apparently decided he wanted no part of the surgical procedure and had somehow evaded capture by scaling the short fence and retreating back down the hill into the swamp.
Suddenly a grim-faced Buck beelined toward the escapee, who was taking a breather in the deepest, gummiest part of the lot. When he came to within about ten feet of the porker, Buck made a flying tackle and landed atop the surprised pig. The resulting chaos was worthy of national television coverage. In spite of their giggling, Everett and John piled on the wallowing duo. In the process of trying to jump and run through the mud, I lost both of my knee-high rubber boots. When it was all over, we stood staring at the scene for several minutes. Never had I seen such a sight. All we needed were several fires burning, smoke spiraling upward, and the scene would have been reminiscent of a Civil War movie not long after the Yankees had marched through the farmsteads outside Atlanta.
