When I was 17, I came home from school one day to find my mother anxiously waiting for me.

I've always been a laid-back guy, so when she told me that she and my dad had decided to take a break for a while, I took it pretty well.

In fact, it was me who ended up comforting her.

For the next couple of days, it seemed a bit weird.

Dad wasn't around much even when we were together.

He was an interstate truck driver.

We were lucky if we saw him for a couple of hours one or two nights a week before he was off again.

So his absence wasn't really unusual. That's why seeing his truck on a Monday when he was never home with such a surprise.

I walked out the front as he was swinging the door open and out jumped up huge black puppy.

It was a mastiff Dane Cross that I named Thor. My dad knew I'd wanted a dog for ages. I'd been

shooting since I could hold a gun, but I never hunted with dogs. With Thor, I was going to get my chance to

contribute to the pig chasing stories at school. Over the next four years, Thor grew to be very

protective of me. At a whopping 196 pounds, that was a lot of protection. He did have a few anger issues. No one could pet him,

and he wouldn't eat unless I gave him the food. He scared my mother a lot too. She'd always say

we need to get rid of that dog. He's going to bite someone. I always shrugged it off.

One weekend, a maid I went to school with rang me and said that we were going

pigging.

He said to get my stuff together and he'd be at my place in an hour.

I went and got Thor's pigging collar, a drink bottle, and my long-range rifle.

About 9 a.m., my mate turned up in his white dual cab Ute.

His dog was already in the back and Thorough was nearly snapping the chain.

I had him on to get to the Ute.

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