Citizens in Riga, the capital of Latvia reported that a “wild boar” (a very bristly, scrawny, runty-looking kinda pig) had escaped from its pen, that’s how wild it was, it lived in a pen – I guess it’s wild the way Christopher Hitchens is Jewish – and was marauding through the Lavian countryside and even cityside, trotting happily through back lanes, parking illegally, scaring lapdogs, and poking its snout into people’s yards.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, but where does Metro come into this?
Right here: regardless of his claims of Celticism, he must in fact be Latvian, since his reflexes so perfectly mirror those of these obscure Balkananianses: they called the SWAT team.
From Yahoo via Fark.
RIGA (AFP) – A police SWAT unit was called out to a gas station in the Latvian capital early Friday after a wild boar was spotted wandering around the facility.
“We received a call at about 2:00 am (0000 GMT) and sent out special operations unit ‘Alfa’,” state police spokesman Aigars Berzins told AFP Friday.
“The boar was about three years old and had wandered in from a wild animal yard,” he said.
Such yards are becoming more and more popular in Latvia, and are often set up in wooded suburban areas near big cities.
“The wild hog had broken the fence and got out. It was not afraid of humans at all,” Berzins said. [but not, apparently, vice versa]
Without using either special weapons or tactics — the first letters of which give SWAT units their name — the elite police unit rounded up the boar and took it back to the yard.
del.icio.us: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
blinklist: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
Digg it: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
ma.gnolia: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
Stumble it: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
simpy: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
newsvine: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
reddit: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
fark: PANIC IN LATVIA!!!
Technorati me!
raincoaster 
Y’know, when you mentioned a wild bore I thought this was another self-referential post, honey.
But don’t worry. I’ll be here to call the cops to pull Nabi off of you.
It’s okay if you want to just forfeit now, though. Seriously, there’s no shame in it. Just howls of derision and you have to sit in the shallow end.
Ya, ya, whydoncha call the cops on a squirrel or sumpin? I’m totally up for the bet, and once again you’re attempting to weasel out and declare victory without answering my questions. I’m prepared to pin either of my friends’ cats here, or go over to my sister’s house and pin either of her two cats, including the one that won’t let strangers touch her, sending you photos and eyewitness accounts, or go to your house and pin either of yours before your very eyes.
Choose your poison, uniform-chaser!
Speaking of picking one’s poisons, you need to start buying a more expensive brand of glue to sniff. Had you followed the link you would have seen that we will accept no substitute cats.
You claimed you could pin Nabi, let’s see you put the money where your mouth is.
Don’t worry, it’s just a figure of speech. Besides, there’ll be no room for money around your feeding tube.
As for “uniform chaser”–aren’t you the one who was going on about men in leather with handcuffs and nightsticks? In fact, this whole mania for “pinning” “kitties” you’ve suddenly developed–is that some sort of subcultural code? Perhaps your trip to Toronto became a voyage to Venus?
Is this “pinning” thing some distaff version of “pegging”?
I followed the link. I commented. Twice. Happy to trundle over and pin your cat any time you like. If you like, you can call the cops on me; we both like to keep in touch with the men in uniform.
Just so long as I get my 25 percent of the DVD rental rights.
Do we have a contract? I’m looking, I’m not seeing it…
Once that’s done can you come and work some magic with my two cats? They are still unable to be in the same room without supervision after hearing that video. Which, according to this article, is not as unusual a thing as I thought it was. But it sure is taking a lot longer for them to get back to normal than I thought it would.
Certainly. You can just email me once you’ve bought my round-trip ticket. Fortunately, having been born in France, I am able to legally pin cats all over the EU.
If nothing else, it should ensure they bond in hatred of the strange human. The enemy of my enemy is my friend is EXACTLY the kind of logic that would appeal to a cat.
Also, happy new year!
Mme Cat Whisperer:
What an utter fraud you are. Clearly you haven’t met a cat. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”? That would only apply to cats who first shared a bottle of something potent. And of course the problem there is that word: shared”.
“The enemy of my enemy may be usefully exploited until the opportune moment”–much more catlike. It is surely no co-incidence that Barney Fife redux, running the US, is a dog owner.
Lacking direct experience he has clearly adopted the “cat” foreign policy that Clinton, a cat owner, was sensible enough to learn to avoid.
Speaking of psychoactive substances, it’s time you laid off the catnip, buddy.
On the contrary, a little nip once in a while brings wonderful clarity. I think of it as sort of disinfacting the brain by soaking in alcohol. As for my little green buddies, I see them, alas, only on the rarest of occasions nowadays. Stop in at Da Kine on your way up, couldja?
No need: isn’t Nelson closer to you than to me?
“You can just email me once you’ve bought my round-trip ticket.”
Sorry, but I’m saving up for the cat pinning event … guess I’ll just have to get by as best I can on my own with them. Though it hasn’t gone unnoticed that you only put up the disclaimer about the video after my cats (and my lower back) became unhinged.
Well, how was I to know what effect it had on four-footed ones? The only four-footed ones I have around my place are mice and me after too much gin! Actually, come to think of it, I didn’t see a mouse around after playing that for quite a while. Maybe I’m on to something.
That guy is a cutie.
I dunno. He looks kinda like a shaved gerbil to me.
Yeah, his legs look like sticks. His thighs are going to sue his calves for non support.
Ar ar. At least you can tell he’s rich and stylin’ … for a Latvian