Skipper and the Hog

I woke up early one day last week to a text message my oldest brother in New Mexico had sent me. It read "Dad hit a hog on his motorcycle last night. He's out of the hospital now and okay. Just broke some ribs and is skinned up". I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and read it again. My Dad? I thought to myself. My Dad doesn't have a motorcycle.

I immediately called my Dad to verify this information. He answered and I could tell in his voice that it was indeed true. He told me in his shaky voice how it had happened as best he could with being dosed up on pain killers and having suffered a concussion. He explained that he was driving back from Sidney and hit the hog. It was dark and knowing my Dad I'm sure he was having a hard time seeing. He was not wearing a helmet, which I made sure he would now and forever more.
Every part of me wanted to jump in the car and drive up to see him. My Dad is one tough dude, and I was afraid he was trying to put on a brave face for his little girl. With my new job I was unable to just jump in the car and go, but thankfully was able to get a picture of Dad so that my heart could rest easy...somewhat at least. The first picture I recieved was of him in the hospital before they cleaned him up from all of the road rash and it's a hard picture to look at, so I'm posting the after shot.
Keep Daddy in your prayers. He ended up breaking 4 ribs and has severe damage to his ankle and knee. Not to mention multiple deep gashes and lots of road rash.



Only in Texas would this happen AND you'd go back to take a picture of it.