Critters IV
I trod my yard as the master, deciding what goes where
and who should be allowed. When a cat or fox is spotted I run after
it, shrieking like a young girl and the trespasser retreats (more in
confusion than fear). Rocks are saved to discourage the deer, but I
can't say that I've ever actually hit one. And if I did, would the
impact be noticed?
Animals avoid being eaten by fleeing. While almost all
experience suggests that wild animals will flee at the sight of a
human, when they don't it is disconcerting, frightening, irritating,
and a lot of other words that end in “ing”.
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| Will it charge, stand its ground or flee? |
An unnerving experience happened while birding in a
nearby park. I came across a small herd of deer blocking my way.
It was spring and there were fawns among them. Some bucks stood
nearest me, staring and not moving. Backing away was suddenly the
obvious next move. If they weren't going to flee then I was.
Another time I gave up on a path in the woods that was
being claimed by a fox. Maybe her baby was nearby.
I remember a time when retreating was difficult. My
wife and I were hiking on Chincoteague Island, moving along a narrow
path of tall, very dense bushes when the path opened to a marsh full
of ponies. The famous Chincoteague ponies! We were quiet, trying
not to spook them. Then they started moving toward the end of the
path. Then they started trotting up the path. Maybe 20 of them.
These little ponies were each several hundred pounds of charging
hoofs. They weren't going to eat us but they certainly weren't
fleeing! Turning away we saw no immediate refuge. At the last
minute we flung ourselves into the dense bushes as they galloped past
in a cloud of dust (OK, “a cloud of dust” is a cliché, but that
is what they were in). I think I still have some
scratches from that decades old encounter with the bushes.
Snorkeling in the Virgin Islands we came upon some
scaly creatures with big eyes which found us worthy of investigation.
I think I was nibbled by a Parrot Fish. Unexpected and unnerving.
Which reminds me of that coyote that came trotting
toward my wife and me in Yellowstone … but it veered off before
making a lunch of us … clearly not interested in a confrontation …
or even making us its midday snack.
That brings me back to being the master of my yard. I
may spend an hour or two puttering around, but who owns it for the
other 22 hours of the day? And, why do my 2 hours count as being
more relevant? And, as far as being the master, why do I retreat
quickly when being dive bombed by mosquitoes and gnats, hungry for my
blood and looking at me as simply meat on the hoof? Forget the
horror story nonsense. Vampires do lurk in the midday sun!
We all eat something. Why must I be the prey?
So, maybe I'm not the master of my domain. I'll settle
for “participant”, and that's good enough.
