What's a Whathog?

But solid food is for the mature, who because of practice have their senses trained to discern good and evil. - Hebrews 5:14

I'm intentionally working to experience via my spiritual senses. Last night, I was exercising. I was troubled and consternated last night. Attended the All-In night at HP last night. 

One thing Brenda had pointed out was a spirit of offense in the church at HP. Sure enough. There one is, fellowshipping with the most faithful at All In night. How did I know? It was operating. How did I know it was operating?
The opening singing time starts, and I'm feeling offended. I'm thinking, to myself about myself, What are you doing? Are you really going to beat your head against the wall at a place where people don't even really waste breath to say Hello to you? How all-in are you really going to get … 
I kinda cut it off there, because I'm aware when the mental voice is an unfriendly one, not from me or anyOne I like. So yeah, recognizing these thoughts is what finally illuminated me that Offense was at work.

So I took some time to address the spirit of offense in the room, forbidding him to act, and shutting his mouth, taking authority over his ability to speak thoughts into the attendants' minds, and sending him outside; then releasing some Instead from the Lord - the spirit of unity and love and understanding into the place, instead.

That was during the opening song time. Fast forward to the closing song time, here's an sight, and a strange aside. 
During the final song, I stop singing, and listen; I close my eyes and try to engage my spiritual sight. What is there to see in this place? Nothing. 
Nothing. 
Noth-What's that? 
Something moving, lit from within, blurred bright white and luminous iceberg blue, creeping forward and low, down from the upper back level of the room to the front. Down the step near me, just seven feet away. Indistinct, ethereal but solid. What is that? A big dog? A wolf? Moving slowly now, toward me on my right. I turn my head and extend my right hand toward it, palm forward, fingers down. You're not scary. We sense each other, yah. 

It comes near my hand, like it's going to sniff my fingers, and the best I can make out, with a snout long and narrow. It shows its teeth along the edge of its mouth, but doesn't open its jaw. A mouth like a crocodile's, extended and toothy. But it looks most like a warthog.

Are you kidding me? I'm seeing a spirit warthog in church. With sharp gator teeth. It's not threatening me, but I'm not going to pet it. 

I'm not scared, just incredulous and suspicious and calm and curious, and I clench my hand into a ball of a fist. If you try to bite me, you are going to regret it. I'll shove this right down your throat.

The music winds down and I open my eyes and examine an empty floor. 
Weerder and weerder.

Yes, this is an unusual experience for me, and no, I don't know how or why or what a warthoggy apparition means. Toss me a word of knowledge on this, won't you? 

…

The two-day-later post script: 
I turned this over in my mind for a day. I went to bed asking God for illumination as I slept. I didn't dream, per se, but woke up saying Good Morning to God today, and like a math problem that intuition solves, or a puzzle answer that springs to light after a night's sleep, I immediately know who the Whathog was. The answer is always so obvious - once you know the answer.

This is where, if I were telling you all this verbally, I'd stop and ask you some questions and make you think it through like I was trying to think it through and bank up a little suspense and annoyance on your part. But it's not, and if I don't tell you what's the whathog, you're going to just stop reading. So. 

I should have known, if I'd used Welton's circles to pare down the options: 
Not the Holy Spirit, He's unmistakable. 
Not a holy angelic spirit (too unfriendly, yah). 
Not a human spirit, either above or below the sword. I was in a room full of human spirits, and this was Other.
That only leaves a demonic spirit. What demonic spirit would be potentially menacing, but act so benign? How about one that had been muzzled and silenced, roaming a church but doing no wrong only because he was made incapable of wrongdoing for a time, tossed outside but welcomed right back in to roam the aisles?

The whathog was the spirit of offense. To think that I extended my hand to it.