Shadows at Midnight

I haven't been sleeping too well lately. Sarah and Dave are living in our house, and Kevin and I have vacated to the "pink room" where we're sleeping on a blow-up mattress. Also, I've caught a bit of a cold, which means that combining all these factors, I sleep for about an hour at a time between nose blows.
At 4:30 this morning, I awoke to notice that it was really gusty and raining. Then in my sleep-deprived mindset, I panicked about my cardboard shoebox of vegetable seeds that I'd left outside in the garden (unplanted).
I jumped out of bed in my sweats, donned my flip-flops, and ran frantically outside into the rainy darkness of night. The wind had blown my shoebox down a few feet from where it was originally, and I tiptoed through the mud to pick it up.
As I was bending over towards it, I noticed a big black shadow towards my left, maybe four feet away from my face. In the dark, I thought it must be a big, black dog sleeping in the grass, and in my drowsy state, I was surprised, but not terribly worried. I did take a step back, though.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, and as my slow-motion brain tried to catch up to speed, I realized that big black dogs don't sleep in the grass during rainstorms. If it had been a dog, it would have looked up at me, barked, or at least flinched or reacted when I approached it. So it wasn't a dog. It was big, black, not really hairy, but very fat with its black skin kind of stretched over its cylindrical belly section. It was... a huge black wild boar rooting through my compost pile!
I yelled at it to, "Hey, get out of here," but it didn't even look up from its rooting through my rotten vegetables, crunching, snorting, and smacking its lips.
Now my brain had again caught up with itself, and I realized what a stupid thing I was doing, shouting at a giant (four feet long and two in diameter) wild animal that was chowing down on its newly discovered treasure. I've seen movies of these beasts in action (think Pumbaa bowling for buzzards), and while I couldn't see its face in the dark, I didn't want to be around when its tusky front end noticed me. So I high-tailed it back into my house.
Now I bet you're wondering what happened with the seeds. I sat in the living room stewing about this same problem for a while, all the time knowing that the more I waited, the wetter my seeds were getting. I crept back outside, and the midnight pig was gone, or at least it was far enough into the shadows that I couldn't see it. Happily, I retrieved said seeds and trotted back into the house.
Next time I'm bringing a flashlight.