My encounter isn't a bigfoot story. It's a dog man's story. It happened here in my hometown of San Angelo, Texas. It was about twenty four or twenty five years ago, and my oldest daughter was about a year old at the time. Her dad and I weren't together, and on Sunday afternoons he'd come pick her up. A friend of mine and I would usually hang out and go to movies, swimming, and sometimes we'd go to a nature path outside of town. On this Sunday, we decided to go to the nature path.
It was a really nice day. It was sunny but not too hot. The path would go straight through a clearing from the parking area towards some big bushes and trees on either side. It would go up and incline slightly, and then through a clearing again. Then it would head into the woods for quite a while. On warm days, when the bushes and wildflowers were bloomed out, there would be tons of butterflies everywhere. It was a beautiful place to relax and enjoy nature. It was all so very
quiet and peaceful. We rarely saw other people when we were there. When you walk down the path, it would go for about twenty or so minutes through the trees. To the left would be another path that went over a small bridge and a dried up river bed. We always went over the bridge and would hang out there for a while in the shade of the trees. We'd usually see some animals, rabbits, maybe a skunk, a deer, and I think one time we even saw a mountain
lion in the distance. This particular day, we were standing on the bridge, my friend towards the middle and me by the opposite side from the path. The bridge wasn't big, about twenty or so feet. We were standing there, talking and enjoying the day, and I started to hear what sounded like someone walking through the trees. I could hear the leaves and twigs on the ground crunching under something's
feet as they walked towards where we were. I looked over and saw what looked like a very large person wearing all black, just a short distance from us. I said to my friend, do you see that. She glanced over and said, yeah, I see them. They just stood there for a while, and I started to think maybe it was a crazy person or a murderer coming for us.
Then suddenly the head turned towards us, and I saw what looked like long hair on the head and body blowing in the wind, and a long dog looking snout turn our way with pointed ears, similar to a German shepherd. I saw what looked like bright yellow eyes staring towards us. I honestly thought I was losing my marbles. I'd never heard of a dog man at the time. My first thought was a werewolf, and I thought that didn't exist except in movies. Suddenly it turned its head the opposite
direction again to look the other way. I grabbed the back of my friend's shirt and duck down behind her. My friend is over six feet tall and around three hundred pounds at the time. I then saw its head swing towards us again as it looked at us another time. I just kept thinking that this cannot be real. Those things don't exist. I started to cry, and I thought I'm going to die right here and never see my
daughter again. Will anyone even find our bodies? It then swung its head the other way to look over its other shoulder. It was standing kind of sundays towards us, and it looked from side to side over and over. It kept doing that for what seemed like an eternity. After looking the opposite way again and then back at us, it walked back the way it came. We could hear the same crunching sound again, and it slowly faded, and then we didn't hear it. I really didn't know what
to do. My friend suggested we go, but I was afraid to move, like it might be waiting for us to do some We stood there for a little while longer and slowly made our way off the bridge down the path towards the car. As we got to the part of the path with the big bushes on either side, I was afraid to go by them because you can't see the other side of the bushes. We slowly went to them and then quickly around, and we're relieved that there was nothing there. After that, we hurried to my car.
Somewhere along the way, I picked up a really long tree branch. She made me drop it. I got the car keys out of my pocket, unlocked the doors, and we jumped in and tore off out of there. I don't think I ever drove so fast in my life, and we never went back to that place again. I considered us lucky to get away because something else must have been on the other side that was more interesting
that led it away from us. I never told anyone until just a few years ago when I heard of the dog Man, and I thought that that must be what I saw that day. Thank you for letting me share my story. It actually feels good to get it out there and not have it on my mind so much. My story is from nineteen fifty eight, when I was a farm kid in central Illinois. My grandfather was a large acreage farmer. He and his brother farmed over three thousand acres around Warrensburg, ill which had been in the
family from the seventeen hundreds. My grandfather was a larger than life man, president of the Farm Bureau and Lions Club. He was Illinois skeet shooting champion, a pilot, with his own plane, boats, and all the newest farm equipment. He bought a new pink Cadillac every two years. I think he liked being larger than life. I was his oldest
grandson and he took me everywhere with him. When we crash landed his Cessna in a field rolling into a creek, he made me swear I would never tell my grandmother, and I never did. To say he was a serious, no nonsense man would be understating his nature. Warrensburg, Illinois, in nineteen fifty eight was a small farm town, the center of a farming area, Like so many Midwest farm towns, tractor suppliers, farm supply lies, a general store, and school
or two. With a population of fifty nine, it lays twenty nine miles northeast of Blue Mound, Illinois, with its history of curses and mysterious doom that permeated the area for hundreds of miles around over hundreds of years. Today, I looked it up on the Internet to find not a mention of that past other than the storied up crop failures that ruined farmers for over one hundred years in Blue Mound. Blue Mound is an ancient American Indian
burial ground. My maternal grandmother was a full blood Cherokee Indian. She wouldn't go near Blue Mound. We were told the Indians buried not their dead, but the bodies of their wicked enemies, the giants they warred with for many years. There's an oddly high ground in the middle of the flat plains where no one was allowed to form or excavate by law for nearly one hundred years. The ill fated stories of those who dared to dig in Blue
Mound are many. Legend has it due to a curse by the Indian medicine man placed on the dead buried there. I can tell you my one trip through there as a child, even before I knew the legends, was unsettling, to say the least. One sunny fall day, my grandfather, my uncle, and I were out in a field by our creek bird hunting. I was a kid with my eye in the sky most of the time. I loved birds, planes, and all things that flew. I still do. It's no
wonder I ended up a private pilot. As I was watching the crows fight and fly in and out of the large elm tree by the creek, I noticed a plane in the distance. I began watching it as it approached on a path that would take it directly overhead. It would be a video image burned in my brain for all my life. When it was about a mile away, judging by its proximity to the north hundred acres fence line, I thought I was seeing things. This plane flapped its
wings like a bird. I yelled at my grandad, look at the plane. It's flapping its wings. As he turned and said, planes don't flap their wings, son, you know that with you know that fading in volume as he saw the plane flap its wings. Suddenly it dawned on me that this was a bird. It was a huge bird. It was probably at around five hundred feet altitude, I realized today, Having been a pilot. My grandfather had a Cessna and flew over the farm regularly at about the
same altitude. The wingspan of this bird was at least double that of his cesna. The body was twice as long and three times as wide as the cessna's fuselage. The sun was at the perfect angle to see it was feathered with a huge beak, almost appearing as a huge eagle. We stood in awe as it approached, rapidly, flapping its huge wings every now and then. Suddenly, my dim wet uncle, known for his poor Honting etiquette, aims his shotgun at this huge bird. My grandfather grabs his barrel,
shoving it into the dirt as it fires. My grandfather was in a rage, I think partially because of uncle dim went and partly from fear, because he was a man that didn't scare. I had never seen a look of fear on his face until that moment. I knew well his look of anger, as he had a short temper and little tolerance for stupidity. He yanked me under his arm and fell to the ground, telling my uncle to get down. The bird gave a head turn, noticed
to the gun fire, and then continued on. When the bird had gone about a mile past, my grandfather let me up and lit into my uncle's Are you out of your effing mind? Do you know what that is? I still have one hundred head of cattle and pigs and sheep and your wife's horses. My uncle was wisely silent, as he well knew setting off my granddad and earned him more than one punch in the face. Grandpa's rage was different than this. He was really upset over my
uncle's attempt to shoot this bird. Upset and scared. To this day, I think he knew far more about the giant bird and its actions than he ever told me. He was truly worried about his livestock. We never discussed it after that day. Sadly, my hero died of cancer. Four years after this incident, just before my twelfth birthday. But on this day, as he cooled, I waited for a minute, and then I asked, what was that, Grandpa. He turned and helped me my shoulders, looking me in
the eye. You can't ever tell anyone what I'm about to tell you because they will think you're crazy. Promise me that you want and I agreed. He began, You know that bird was flying toward Blue Mound, right, Yes, I replied. We have forever heard the tales of the giant bird the Indians called the thunderbird. I thought it was just a story about the eagle the Indians worship. He said, today, I know the thunderbird is real. I didn't tell him, but my maternal Jerokee grandmother had told
me about the thunderbird. According to legend, thunderbird would fly over Blue Mound to see if someone had disturbed it. True or not, I don't know. What I do know is at the time Blue Mound and its lore were much respected. I spent years looking into the sky to hopefully see the thunderbird again, but I never did. Later, I would read about the thunderbird and have no doubt I have been very fortunate in life to see it.
I love the encounters about dog man and bigfoot that you share, which I firmly believe in, as my father, uncle, and grandfather who hunted the southern State suddenly and mysteriously stopped going to those places after their last trip. My dad told me stories of the big cats that would scream and sound just like a woman, and he warned me to never go to help out if I was in the woods and heard those sounds, because the people
that went in to help seldom returned. He, like my grandfather, wasn't afraid of anything, but he warned me to stay out of the forest and run if I was ever in them and heard the big cat screaming like a woman. I decided long ago that he knew it wasn't big cats, but didn't want to freak out his six year old son. As a footnote, the only person besides my wife I ever told his story to was my friend Watuka rock Igola, a full blooded Navajo Indian. He mentioned Thunderbird one day
and I was just floored. He not only believed me, he said my grandfather was a wise man to heed the warnings that he had heard. Thank you so much for your show, and I'd rather not be identified if you don't mind.
This bigfoot story comes from a gentleman refers to remain anonymous, and who says it's true. I would like to share with you and your audience a citing I had on the Appalachian Trail a few years back. I'm fifty years old now, but I was thirty nine when this event unfolded. My friend and I had made plans to walk the Appalachian Trail during summer vacation. We planned to do a different section each vacation until we completed it. We decided
to start at Springer Mountain in Georgia. We were outfitted with all new packs, sleeping bags, and all the things we needed to complete our hike. We both loved the outdoors, so we were excited about the upcoming two weeks. The first day, we hiked five hours and not knowing if we would have time to make it to the next one, decided to stop at the sleeping shelter we came to at around three that afternoon. We hung around and took in the beauty of the place. Being outdoors in the
smoky mountains with my friend was wonderful. We talked with other hikers and sat around and prepared our evening meal. Everyone there was exhausted, so we all turned in for the night. My friend and I slept like rocks that night. The next morning, we were sore from the first day, so we took our time packing up and getting started. As we were going along and enjoying the sights, we passed a couple of ladies who seemed like they were in a hurry. It was if they were speed walking
and not interested in conversation. Later, we stopped so my friend could use the restroom. There was a game trail about five yards downhill from us, so we stepped down to it so she could do her business. It was quite a steep incline to come back up, and I noticed the game trail ran parallel to the main trail, so I suggested we follow it for a while and maybe we'd find an easier place to get back up to the main trail further down. As we walked down
the game trail, I kept hearing voices and laughing. I thought a big group must be coming down the trail. My friend, who was leaning abruptly stopped and I knew she'd seen something. I asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She only pointed. I followed her finger to the source and was shaken by what I saw. I pulled her back and we both squatted down as I whispered, is that real? Did we just see that?
She nodded her eyes wide with shock. I pulled my binoculars from my pack and eased forward, looking around the bush we'd duck behind. Sitting thirty yards from us and maybe fifteen or so yards downhill was a juvenile booger, skunkate, bigfoot, whatever you want to call it. It was intent on watching something, so I followed its gaze and found the source of the laughter. A group of about six young people, two young men and four young ladies had found a
waterfall and were having fun cooling themselves off. I leaned back and handed the binoculars off to my friend, who then took her turn. After a minute, she leaned back quickly and flashed a puzzled half grin. I mouthed the words what is it? But she just shook her head and handed me the binoculars. I looked down the hill at the swimmers first, then back to where the creature was sitting. I thought it was just sitting there. Then I realized what she'd seen. It looked like it was massing.
I lean back and tried not to laugh. We sat there for a minute more before I suggested we backtrack, but my friend thought we should let the young people know they were being watched, So we went to a spot about forty yards back down the trail where we could easily climb down to where they were. The place was a sort of a wash out that afforded us some cover for quite a way before we risked being exposed to the creature. As we were climbing down, we
heard a high pitched whistle from somewhere above us. The juvenile jumped up and looked around, just as my friend's foot dislodged a rock, sending it tumbling down the hill. Run, I said, and she did. I looked over and realized the juvenile was also running. He was heading at an angle that was going to intersect my friend's path. Without a second thought, I took two steps up onto a rock and catapulted myself across the wash, which put me
on a trajectory straight for the juvenile. I thought at that moment, I was probably a dead man, but I was trying to give my friend a chance. This thing stopped in midstride and stared with a mix of disbelief and hatred at the crazy flying human. It was about six feet tall, and from the look on its face, there was no doubt it was going to kill me. I'm six foot four and I weigh two hundred and twenty five pounds, but this thing was easily three hundred
and fifty pounds of pure muscle and anger. I never stopped. I doubt I could have, and his expression changed from one of surprise to one of fear. At least that's what I was telling myself. As I was barreling at him from out of nowhere. I felt a sudden, sharp blow to my back, and now I was tumbling down the hill, trying to get my breath and stop my fall. When I finally came to rest, I saw the creature
jump up and down, whooping and pounding the ground. Then I heard a scream and chattering that sounded almost like some kind of language. The juvenile creature looked down defeated. It dropped all fours and bolted up the mountain at an unbelievable speed. I watched as it disappeared up the mountain before my eye was drawn to another sight. Not thirty feet behind me was a massive eight foot taller
better seven to eight hundred pound female. She looked right at me, and I swear I saw empathy in her eyes. She seemed to communicate with me. In my head. It was so strange, but I clearly heard her say she was sorry that she hit me with the rock, and that her child was chasing after us. She said that he was getting too unruly and would be dealt with. Then she turned and dashed up the hill with more grace and speed than the juvenile. I knew then what had made him afraid. It wasn't me, it was mama.
A minute later, the two young men from the waterfall were asking me if I was okay. I said I was, and they helped me down to the pool of water, where I sat for what seemed like hours in total disbelief. My friends sat with me, answering their questions. The rocks she dislodged had alerted them, and they'd all looked up the hill in time to see the entire event. Apparently, my friend had screamed when I said run, but I
hadn't heard anything but silence. It felt like I was in a time warp, with everything slowed down and out of proportion. What seemed like hours had taken place in a matter of seconds. The young people were students at a nearby college who often came to this spot to swim and hang out. They were nice and couldn't believe what they'd seen. They kept talking about how brave I was. The truth is I was stupid to them and my
friend though I was a hero. Now we left with them and they gave us a ride to where our car was parked. That ended our hiking for good. Now, if I'm hiking, it's with a large group armed with automatic weapons. Well that's our story, and we don't care if anyone believes it or not. We know the truth. Thanks very much for allowing us to share and keep the stories coming