[Zoidberg]

I remember as a little kid, not even five, when my dad first told me about the Bush Hog. He said to me after a hectic day, “I know I haven’t been there for you, Scott, but I have to keep the lawn mowed to keep the Bush Hog away.” I never believed him, although a big, killer pig that lived in tall grass would have been a good explanation for my dad’s biggest eccentricity: mowing the lawn.

My dad was obsessed with keeping the lawn mowed, all the time. He would even sometimes leave in the middle of dinner to go out and mow the lawn. It drove my mom crazy. So crazy, in fact, that they would have long arguments over his not being there for me whenever I needed him, whether a baseball game, a school play, or a neighborhood barbecue. My mom still loved my dad, and so did I, but his obsession with the lawn seemed to tear our family apart.

Whenever he would apologize for missing out on things because of mowing the lawn, he would mention the Bush Hog. My dad told me that the Bush Hog was a huge pig with long tusks. It supposedly lived in tall grass or bushes, and would keep living there until the grass or bushes were cut. According to my family legend, the Bush Hog had terrorized my family for nearly 300 years, ever since my dad’s great, great, grandfather shot and wounded it.

So the story was that everyone in my family had to live where the grass was short and there were no bushes, or the bushes had to be cut down. Due to my family's diligence, the Bush Hog had stayed out of my family’s hair. That is, until this one fateful day.

One Friday, when I was about 15, my parents left on a vacation to Hawaii for a week. I was free to do almost whatever I wanted, as long as I did the chores, “including mowing the lawn,” my dad said.

“Are you going to be okay, Honey?” my mom asked on the day they left.

“Of course, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then. Bye.”

“Bye, Mom.”

I stepped out of the garage and watched my mom get in the passenger's side of the car. My dad rolled down his window and yelled, “Don’t forget to mow the lawn!”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t!”

Yes, I thought to myself, a whole week just to hang out with my friends. I went back in the house and sat down on the couch. I picked up the phone and called one of my friends.

After spending a week going out to the movies, ordering pizzas, and hanging out at friends’ houses, I was pretty tired. It was 3:00, one week after my parents left. They would be home in about 2 hours.

I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I searched through the shelves on the door until I found a Coke, which made a hissing sound as I opened it. I took a couple sips of the Coke and looked at the counter. On it was a yellow notepad. I looked more closely, and saw that something was scribbled on it in cursive. I picked it up and read it. At the top, it said: Chores. My heart stopped in my chest. OH MY GOD! I screamed inside of my head, I didn’t do any of my chores! My parents were going to kill me.

I read the first thing on the list: Laundry. I rushed to the laundry room and took the clothes out of the dryer. I folded them all as quickly and as carelessly as I could, and stacked them all on the beds, my clothes on my bed, and my parents’ on theirs.

I rushed back to the kitchen and read the next thing on the list: Vacuum The House. I looked at the digital clock on the microwave. It was 3:11. I had about an hour and 50 minutes left. I took the vacuum out of the closet, plugged it into an outlet, and started vacuuming. I vacuumed the living room, moved the vacuum and vacuumed the hallway and my room. I moved the vacuum again and vacuumed my parents’ room. I unplugged the vacuum and rushed downstairs with it, nearly killing myself running down the stairs. I quickly vacuumed the basement carpet and carried the vacuum back up the stairs where I shoved it back into the closet, knocking down some coats in the process, but paying no attention.

I rushed back to the kitchen and looked at the clock. It was 3:36. I looked at the list again: Clean Your Room. I rushed to my room and looked around. My room looked like the aftermath of a tornado. Clothes were scattered everywhere. My IPod was on the ground and my bed was not made. I quickly folded all of my clothes and set them in neat piles on the ground. I didn’t have time to put them away. I picked up my IPod and set it on my dresser. I made my bed, poorly but quickly, and ran out of the room.

I looked back at the clock: 3:48. I looked at the last thing on the list: Mow The Lawn. I died. Not literally, but in my mind. I kept repeating in my head and even out loud, “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.” I ran outside. Dad is going to kill me, I thought.

I hopped on to the mower and started the engine. It was one of those huge Cub Cadet Riding Mowers, with Zero-Point Turning. It was almost as big as our car. I steered it past some two by fours and out of the garage. I turned off the blades and steered the mower into the backyard.

Now, I knew I was dead. I just noticed how large our back yard was. It was about two acres wide, and there was a big hill towards the back that stretched all the way up and off the property. Luckily, some of the yard was taken up by our pool and the concrete patio, but still that left about 375 square feet worth of mowing.

The grass near the back porch wasn’t very long, but up on the hill the wild grasses were nearing three feet. It was amazing how quickly they grew. I steered the mower along the yard in straight lines, back and forth, back and forth. The flat part of the lawn was mowed in about twenty minutes, but now I had to go up and cut the tall grass on the hill, which would probably take about a little more than a half hour.

About three-quarters of the way across the first line, the mower’s engine churned and suddenly fell silent. The mower stopped moving. I took a look at the gas gauge only to see the arrow pointed to "E". Crap, I thought to myself. I hopped off the mower and ran down the hill and across the backyard to the garage.

In the garage, I searched for the spare gas can. The red, rusty gas tank was parked in the corner of the garage. I walked over to it, navigating myself past tons of cardboard boxes, wooden planks, and lawnmowing supplies. I picked it up and carried it outside. As I heaved it across the backyard, I noticed something that gave me half a heart attack and half chills. The mower, that nearly 800 pound lawn mower, was flipped over, rocking back and forth against the slope of the hill.

Oh my god. No, that is impossible, how could this have happened? As puzzled and awestruck as I was, I knew I was dead, dead as a doornail. In between my curiosity and terror, I noticed something moving up on the hill. It was fast and bulky, and was quickly darting through the bushes, leaving a trail of crushed grass behind it. Although I couldn’t see the face of it, it was as big as a car and its red clay-colored hide was protruding from the top of the grass. The ground thundered as it charged down the hill.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was terrified but I couldn’t move an inch. Could it be? I thought. There was no way it was true.

But it was. As the Bush Hog reached the edge of the grass, it slowed to a trot and emerged from the brush and foliage. Its face was large, its snout was about a foot long. His mouth was distorted into a wry grin. Large, sharp teeth showed in the front of its mouth. Huge molars, each the size of a deck of cards lined the back of its mouth. Its massive tusks were each about two feet long.

The huge pig sniffed the ground and then the air. It squealed with satisfaction and charged forward.

I could feel the ground shake as the beast rumbled towards me. I could feel my legs and hands tremble out of fear. As the Bush Hog charged on, I tried to snap myself out of my shock. I dove out of its way into the soft, freshly mowed grass beside me.

The creature trudged forward, unable to stop, and rammed straight into my deck. There was a crash as the wood of the deck broke and snapped, splinters and planks flying in each direction. The Bush Hog stopped, seeming rather unfazed by the otherwise deadly crash.

The beast backed up and turned towards me. I jumped up from the ground, ready to get out of the way. It charged forward, hoofed feet beating rhythmically at the ground. I got ready to jump, but too late. The thing came at me, head down and snout forward. Its enormous, baseball glove-sized nose hit me in the stomach. Its razor-sharp tusks barely missed me, slicing holes in the sides of my blue t-shirt. The great pig tossed its head to the side and I flew through the air.

I hit the ground rolling. The wind was knocked out of me. I couldn’t breath in any air. I breathed out slowly, and my chest heaved. I felt like I was going to throw up, but didn’t. I lay on the ground, out of breath and watched in horror as the Bush Hog rushed at me. I was going to be crushed by its hooves. As it neared me, I closed my eyes.

A single gunshot echoed through the air. My body was intact. I heard the booming sound of the Bush Hog’s corpse hitting the ground. I opened my eyes. The huge boar was lying in front of me, a bullet hole in its side. Blood stained its hide and ran down onto the grass. I looked over to the side of my house to see my dad standing there, hunting rifle in hand.

He walked over to where the Bush Hog and I laid on the ground. He extended his hand outward. I grabbed it and pulled myself up.

I looked at him in the eyes, “How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked.

“Well,” he replied, “I just knew.”

“Where is Mom?”

“Well, we were on our way home from the airport to get something to eat. While we were eating, I just had a feeling that something was wrong, so I took the car and drove home.”

I felt proud with my father as we talked about everything. I knew that from then on, he would always be there for me.

And so, the body of the Bush Hog was sold to the National Zoological Association. The International Society of Cryptozoology fought over the corpse, but later it was declared government property by some agency and never seen again. But since the Bush Hog was gone, the family “curse” was lifted, and my dad and I got along better than ever before.