Shortgrass outposts quote four hours' travel time to the formal boundaries of Big Bend National Park. The park consists of 1250 square miles of surveyed lands, plus enough caves, canyons and gullies to make several more parks. Herders in our country are beginning to use the Pecos River as the east boundary, adding roughly a million and a half more acres of free range to feed the park's roaming predator population.

As mountain lions, bears and coyotes migrate east to find food, the desert cow outfits sponsor the new residents, as sheep and goat operations west of the Pecos River are too pressed to provide an adequate meat supply. Thousands of acres are listed out west as "remote hunting ranches." As the park spreads, "the remote" part is easier to sell than the "hunting" part. Predator depredation in the Trans-Pecos area is a tragic story. I cringe thinking of the once-abundant herds of mule deer and antelope along the roads leading to Marfa and Alpine.

From the east, prospects are better. True, feral hogs are moving westward, trampling down fences, destroying waterings, and terrorizing the weak of heart. Also, the steady movement of fire ants is becoming a threat to calving and cultivating the soil among the big ant hills. Not all aspects of the eastern migrations, however, are as grim as first thought. Fire ants may kill baby pigs like they kill lambs and calves.

Too, city folks are becoming more aggressive toward pests and predators. The last time I was in San Antonio, the city had mounted propane cannons to frighten grackles. In Hemisphere Park, the cannons were of such force that flocks of birds going back to the battle of the Alamo in 1836 fled the scene. Outside my hotel, way in the night, the cannons boomed, followed by a screeching siren device. San Antonio has always had a different flavor than the rest of Texas. They are certainly a band of optimists thinking they can scare families of black birds qualified to belong to the Daughters of the Texas War of Independence.

But of all places to find a ruthless attack on nature, the least likely was Austin, the very hotbed of environmental causes. In early winter an article in the Austin Statesmanreported the county hiring an archer to kill a founder of some 60 head of feral hogs led by a boar called "Old Grumpy." (Note: nature is no longer linked to mother. Nature is neither male nor female. So watch your step.)

The newspaper wrote that the 600-pound boar and his harem threatened destruction of the parks and golf courses on the west side of the city. A county commissioner in a vague comment, true to his chair, said, "after we became an urban county, we saw no need of animal control." The last word was by the bow hunter extolling the taste of feral hog meat. (Wild hogs taste like whatever they eat, or worse. Takes 30 days of pen feeding to make the meat palpable.) The newspaper added no comment, or conjecture how the feral hogs might taste once the animal rights people made this Sherwood Forest version of a bow hunter eat a quiver full of his arrows, shafts, feathers, and all. (If Mertzon or Barnhart ever become so bloodthirsty that the citizens start shooting arrows instead of high powered rifles to kill Middle Concho River hogs, I am going to apply for an unlisted phone number and an anonymous mailbox.)

Last week, the Texas agricultural statistician outfit called from Austin in the middle of my after-supper nap to audit my woollies. I report the same numbers to keep from searching for my tally book. We breezed right along, entering last year's lamb crop and desperate wool prices followed by the big slump in the summer calf market.

Nothing seemed to bother her until I reported that the Roswell, New Mexico wool house's last sale saw lamb wool from California bringing 15 cents a pound on the same day that beer cans gathered off highway rights-of-way going through Mertzon brought 20 cents a pound in San Angelo.

Taken aback, she asked if I was going to stop raising sheep. "Looks like you lost 10 percent of your lambs and barely recovered your shearing expense." I told her no, to put me down as a good loser, a good sport.

I was so startled by her personal interest, I forgot to ask her how many wild hogs, including pigs born in September, ranged in the Austin city limits on December 31st. By the time I was able to call back, Martin Luther King's birthday closed the state offices and my deadline made contacting her impractical.

But her office will be back in contact in 60 days. I suspect by then the big boar may be dodging missiles more deadly than even steel-shafted arrows and be listed on the most wanted posters under a more descriptive name than "Old Grumpy" ...

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