Neighbors in Valley Ranch have been dealing with feral hogs wreaking havoc since December. A trap has been set up to capture them, but so far — no luck.
IRVING, Texas — When life gives you feral hogs in suburbia, build an electric fence that would make Kevin McCalister jealous.
That’s the approach Irving residents Kathy Martin and Tom Caron have taken as they wage war against a posse of about 20 swine tearing through their neighborhood.
“Hogmageddon. That sums it up,” Martin said, surveying the situation that’s left many yards on her block looking like a battlefield as dod, flower beds, and plants have been destroyed by the pigs digging in the ground for food.
With no sign of the hogs taking the bait from a nearby trap set up by wildlife officials this week, Martin and Caron decided to go full-on do-it-yourself. Their solution? A homemade electric fence delivering a jolting 400-volt shock, lovingly dubbed “The Baconator.”
Trademark pending, of course.
“We keep asking where Elmer Fudd is because we could really use him as a neighbor right now,” Caron joked as he walked along the perimeter of the fence, which is rigged to a timer and runs overnight from 10:30 p.m. to 5:30 a.m. to keep the hogs at bay.
And in case neighbors needed a heads-up about the fence’s live status, Caron installed Christmas lights above the wiring.
“If the lights are on, the fence is live,” he explained with all the flair of a backyard scientist who just outsmarted the animal kingdom. Yeah, NASA engineers wish they thought of this.
The hogs, which have been digging up lawns and nearby properties like eager treasure hunters since December, have spared only a few houses along Harris Court where Caron and Martin live. They’ve also caused roughly $5,000 in damage to Barbara Bush Middle School down the road.
“We’re basically the only three houses on this end of the street that are untouched,” Martin said, hoping the hog-zapping contraption continues to hand them a victory in their lawn wars.
When asked about the fence’s effectiveness, Martin didn’t mince words. “I’m hoping to hear a loud squeal,” she said with a laugh.
Caron, however, stayed philosophical about their hog-defying fortress.
“You have to take matters into your own hands,” he said. “It’s like we can see the damage coming slowly — like watching a hurricane come through.”
“We had to do something,” Martin agreed.
Despite the humor, the situation is a serious one for Irving residents, many of whom are still dealing with the chaos left by the invasive animals. But for Martin and Caron, there’s no better way to fight a feral hog invasion than with a mix of grit, ingenuity, and just a dash of humor.
“You know what? I think this may be the best solution yet,” Martin said, as she kept an eye on her lawn — and the invaders lurking just beyond the fence line.
Feral hogs, an invasive species with an estimated population of over 2.6 million in Texas, are wreaking havoc across the state, causing $400 million in property damages annually. Known for their intelligence and relentless foraging, these animals travel in groups — or sounders — uprooting lawns, disrupting irrigation systems, and tearing apart landscapes in suburban neighborhoods.
In Texas, you can kill as many hogs as you like year-round and don’t need a license to kill them on private property.