The grizzly is back. Nearly four weeks ago when the problem bear that killed our pigs was captured, we loaded him in a trailer, sent him to Yellowstone, and crossed our fingers that he wouldn’t return. A pile of bear scat near the pig pen prompted a phone call to the local Game and Fish Department. They nearly confirmed our suspicion when they reluctantly admitted the most recent report from the bear’s radio collar showed him heading toward the ranch. When the neighbors had a run in with this bear along the river bank while fishing, and the yelling and stone throwing induced growls rather than a quick escape by the bear, we concluded this must be our ferocious pig killer.
Of course this comes as perfect timing, now that we have tracked down new pigs and are prepared to bring them to the ranch.
In other news, some fellow Midwesterners have arrived upon our doorstep. A couple from Illinois and a family from Wisconsin. For a summer characterized by wealthy East and West Coast clients, folks from “back home” were a welcome relief. Easy to please, polite, and good humored include a few of their characteristics.
For the first time this summer a family from Minnesota is staying at the ranch. When I introduced myself as a south easterner I learned the father does quite a bit of fly fishing in Bluff Country and was familiar with all of the small towns and popular creeks like the Whitewater, Winnebago, and South Fork. Bumping into somebody else at the ranch who has eaten at the Redwood Café seems deserving of the cliché, it’s a small world after all.
July 25 marked National Day of the Cowboy. In celebration, our dress code for the day included anything and everything western. While for the wranglers this meant little adjustment to their wardrobe, it served as a nice opportunity for the rest of us to pretend for a little while. For the most part this summer, I’ve stuck to the more practical work boots, t-shirt, and baseball cap. My cowboy boots and hat remain reserved for those occasional instances I’m on a horse.
Our cows continue to graze the National Forest lands surrounding the ranch. Currently, one cow is unaccounted for. For the past few days a rider has gone out in search of the missing animal, in hopes to find at least a clue as to whether it is still alive or not. If dead from a wolf or bear kill, a carcass can mean reimbursement from the state. It remains our responsibility to prove the loss and cause for death.
This morning the chatter at the staff breakfast table centered around a horse that was put down at daybreak. The neighbors called notifying us that one from the herd got stuck in a cattle guard while grazing the night before. With a halter, ropes and a gun the ranch managers reported to the scene, not sure what to expect from the vague description of the scene over the telephone. The horse’s two front legs were caught in the steel grid. If the legs didn’t break when the incident occurred, they broke a few times during the ensuing struggle to escape. In addition, the horse’s head was bloody and skin wore off from rubbing against the cattle guard brace.
Given the fragile condition of the horse, what to do next was obvious, making an inherently tough decision at least a little easier. The halter would not be necessary.
It took three bullets to the head to end the struggle. With the neighbor’s backhoe, the animal was loaded onto a flatbed trailer to be taken away so as not to attract bears and other hungry wildlife to the ranch. Why the horse defied instinct and attempted to cross the cattle guard remains a mystery.
The ranch dogs continue to be an endless source of entertainment for guests of all ages at the ranch. One in particular, Zeke, a border collie and blue healer mix, gives chase to anything on the move including but not limited to soccer balls, footballs, tennis balls, butterflies, sticks, squirrels, birds, and floating sparks from the campfire. The wild black barn cat remains a favorite target and dares not tread too far from its safe haven high in the hay loft. With his nearly four foot vertical he jumps at the lower tree branches at any squirrel gutsy enough to tempt fate. The phrase “get ‘em Zeke” will send that dog toward the nearest tree in search of the elusive tree dwellers whether they are actually present or not.
I wait for the day he is successful in his hunt. Outside my sheep wagon reside a few squirrels that typically serve as a frustrating six o’clock wake up call. They have a shrieking bark like nothing I have ever heard come from the inner branches of a tree. The piercing noise sounds like a cd skipping through a Brittney Spears song. It repeats as reliably as a metronome while their belly moves in and out with each repetition. Unlike earlier in the summer, however, the noise is easy to tune out as I bury my head in the pillow for a few more minutes before the beginning of another exhausting day.
Happy Trails.
