I was a Northeastern Oregon
ranch kid so I grew up with animals.
Some were pets, some were livestock.
We had cattle, horses, mules, llamas, and bison plus the usual cats and
dogs plus rabbits and a baby alligator that found a new home after it bit my
mother. (The folks brought it home from
a party one night when I was in grade school, complete with red ribbon around
its neck. Only with some retrospective
did I begin to infer the circumstances of that acquisition.)
A few critters stand out in
my memory.
Gotta start with a
two-year-old bull bison I named Brewster.
Aviation fans will appreciate the reference to Brewster (the)
Buffalo. Everybody else can Google it.
Brewster was athletic. Flat-footed he could clear almost any fence
on the ranch, and then he’d head in whatever of 360 degrees his Pleistocene
instincts dictated. Now, buffs are not
especially fast but they can run all…day…long.
Their trachea resembles a three-inch fire hose. That’s why the plains Indians ran them in
circles—or over a cliff. No horse can
keep pace with them for long.
As you may imagine, Brewster
could cover ground, and it became a Challenge to find him. After the second or third episode people
asked, “How do you find a runaway buffalo?”
I said, “It’s easy. You go home and you sit by the phone.”
My youngest brother graduated
from college with a degree in English and minor in philosophy. When he declared the latter, Dad asked, “Have
you checked the yellow pages lately?
There’s no listings for philosophers.”
So…the lad decided to raise
llamas. That was in the mid-70s, and
exotics were still a growth industry.
Actually, he gave some thought to camels but our father said, in
monosyllables, “Not just No but hell No.”
The New World camelids are
llamas, alpacas, guanacos, and vicunas.
The latter are easily identified by the silky ruffs on their chests,
contributing luxurious fibers to really spendy coats.
Have you ever seen Salmon P.
Chase on a greenback? Me neither. But at the height of the llama market a cria was worth $10,000 when it hit the
ground. My brother had impeccable
timing—got in early and got out at the right time, even married his very astute
veterinarian.
Llamas are worth a separate
blog, and I’ll keep that in mind.
Suffice to say that they can be warm and cuddly or cranky and spiteful,
which often means spit-ful. You devoutly
do not want to get caught in a llama crossfire.
They’re called “modified ruminants,” meaning they have three stomachs
and regurgitate a bilious green slime to express their displeasure. Think: high-pressure fire hose for starters.
In the 1980s I knew a lady
who volunteered at a wildlife park.
Michelle was, to employ an overworked phrase, drop-dead gorgeous—married
twice in the time I knew her—but we became friends. She mentioned that occasionally she tended
giraffe and asked if I’d like some face time.
Done deal! She convinced me (very
little convincing required) to accompany her on a feeding detail—a rare
opportunity to meet arguably the most fascinating animals on Planet Earth.
When I say “face time,” I
mean face-to-face time. There are eight
or nine varieties of giraffe, but the Rothschild’s I met were curious and
friendly as long as I had something munchable.
Their long, rough tongues were darkish colored and amazingly agile. If there’s such a thing as a prehensile
tongue, giraffe have it.
However, meeting giraffe even
in a large enclosure was not the same as seeing them in nature. In 2000 I went to Zimbabwe on a magazine
assignment with some hunting included.
Riding the Land Rover onto the reserve, I noticed three long-necked
creatures peering at us over the top of acacia trees. That was an unforgettable moment—a small yet
tangible sensation: We’re really in Africa.
A few days later I was out
early with my hunting guide when we crossed a dry creek bed. He pointed to some fresh tracks. “Leopard.
Passed here last night.”
The hair on the back of my
neck actually stood up, accompanied by a prickling-tingling sensation. Only much later did I mention it to a friend
who’d treated himself to a safari upon assuming command of an aircraft carrier. He said, “That was your DNA talking to you.”
He was right. It’s hard for most humans to realize it
today, but there was a time when it was uncertain whether leopards or hominids
would finish atop the food chain.
(There’s archeological evidence indicating a prehistoric contest:
Leopards 1, Humans 0.)
At the opposite end of the
Fascinating Animal Scale from giraffe are hummingbirds.
There are more than 300
species of hummers, with 19 historically recorded here in Arizona, mostly in
the southeastern part of the state. However,
several species are considered Rare (migratory) and five Accidental. The Phoenix area hosts three or four
varieties, with Anna’s mostly patronizing the feeders outside my office and the
dining room.
Anna’s are especially
colorful. They display almost iridescent
green bodies while males sport brilliant red or reddish throats.
I never get tired of watching
them. Like every other aviator, I find
them absolutely enchanting. Their
ability to change direction and velocity in an instant make them the envy of
every Harrier pilot—“viffing” is part of the VSTOL aviator’s inventory, but Mom
Nature imparted unmatched virtuosity to the tiny masters of vector in forward
flight.
Then woodpeckers discovered the
feeders in April. Damn poachers.
The other day I was typing
away when I heard a tap-tap-tapping sound.
Looked to my right about four feet and saw a Gamble’s Quail on my window
ledge. The little guy was
persistent—kept at it though I have no idea what he wanted. A day or so later a lady Gamble’s repeated the
process at the kitchen window. I guess
The Word got around.
So did the word on the
porcine grapevine. My wife’s flower pots
have drawn attention of javelina, which regard the decorations as an open-air
salad bar. But know what? We don’t mind too much. It’s a pleasure to share our environment with
wildlife, even including coyotes, bobcat, and at least one cougar which a
friend calls the “mountainous lion.”
After all, they were here
first. But we really could’ve done
without the diamondback rattler in the garage.
