Joe flew a Pilatus Porter many years ago in foreign climes and found himself at a bush strip one day being loaded with all sorts including a number of wicker crates full of chickens. He got ready and lined up for take-off to find a pickup truck careering across the runway with arms waving wildly at him from within. Several men dismounted and took a bound and trussed wild pig of sorts and loaded it into the back of the aircraft.
This was not entirely uncommon, it seems, so, doors closed, Joe lined up for take-off again. At around 5,000ft, he heard the chickens get a bit excited and glanced over his shoulder to find the bindings on the pig's forelegs had come undone and he was trying to scrabble his way forward along the floor.
Joe pulled the nose up and the threat retreated, literally. However, once levelled again, the pig made another effort. This step-by-step climb kept having the desired effect but at something the far side of 12,000ft, Joe had himself a bit of a dilemma and, in his soft Donegal accent, said "so ah decided 'twas either the moon or kill the f****n' pig!"
He began to descend gradually again, took hold of the fire extinguisher and, each time the pig came within reach, he was greeted by a sound thump from Joe's new weapon.
By the time he landed, the pig was very dead!
Last edited by heliski22; 24th Nov 2009 at 15:07.