The wild boar, which is simply the untamed version of the domestic pig, is a formidable animal. Shakespeare described its dangers:
. . . thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still,Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
'On his bow-back he hath a battle setOf bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way,And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay.
'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.
I wrote about the perils of pigs—wild, domestic, and feral—in The Red Hourglass and Deadly Kingdom.