Bubba White

Frustrated at the interruption, I opened the door a little too quickly. Surprise met me in the weathered face of Bubba White. He looked a little sheepish, probably guessing correctly that I wasn't thrilled at his visit.

Bubba White made his living trapping and selling wild hogs. Two months ago he had started trapping on my place, which has apparently been a gold mine of large hogs.

He was tall, his body toned by years of labor outdoors. He was at the age where we all start to look the same age. He could have been 40, and he could have been 50. I wasn't sure.


Everyone called him Bubba White. Not Bubba, not Mr. White, but put together, Bubba White.

Bubba White's real first name is "Bob." My neighbor told me that when Bubba White was a kid, he was teased at school. The boys would go around calling, "Bob white! Bob white!" in the same shrill way a Bobwhite Quail would call.

One day Bubba White came home and told his parents to start calling him "Bubba," and from that day on, he became known as Bubba White.

Bubba White never married, but I had a feeling it was purely by choice. Bubba White had manners. He would take his battered cap off when talking to me, and was always very polite.

"I am sorry for intruding on you like this, Mrs. Thompson, but I wanted to let you know that me and a coupla others plan on going hog hunting tonight. We're taking dogs with us, so you might want to keep Hank inside."

I wasn't a fan of using dogs for hog hunting, mainly because pit bulls were becoming the dog of choice. "Just how close do ya'll plan on coming to my house?"

"Not too close, but I figured since I've had such luck with trapping them bigs ones on your land, that we would try tonight with the dogs and see what we can rustle up."

"Can you text me when ya'll get to my property, just so I'm aware?"

"Yes, ma'am, I can do that. You have a good day, and thank you." Bubba White smiled and put his cap back on as he turned and walked back to his truck - a brand new, black Dodge Ram diesel. Bubba White did pretty well for himself.

I shut the door. I heard Bubba White start up the truck, the distinctive rumbling sound of the diesel engine fading as he drove away.

I called Rihanna back. I felt for sure that I wanted to take her with me to Ms. Ida's tomorrow, and then talk more about what was happening.

Her line started to ring. Standing there in the hallway, I noticed the livingroom grow darker, as if clouds were passing in front of the sun.

My oldest cat, Cleopatra, a gray calico, rubbed up against my legs. She meowed up at me, then sat down at my feet and stared at the livingroom.

"You feel it, too, don't you?" I asked her.

She looked up at me with her gold eyes, "Meow."

"Hi, Kiara." Rihanna said. "It's about time you called back! I was only attacked by dark shadows is all!"

"I know! I'm sorry, I got rid of him as fast as I could. Look, can you come out here tonight? I want you to go with me to Ms. Ida's tomorrow. Also, I'm not so sure you should be there by yourself. I don't really want to be alone, either, to tell you the truth."