03-06-2005, 12:51 AM
Upon watching our old dog mourning her kennel mate, a friend said to me one day, "Oh,Kath, they're just animals, they don't grieve."
Those who know me recognize there's no such thing as "just animals" in my lingo. Them's fightin' words.
Most all the beloved animals on our ranch have lived to ripe old ages leaving us to mourn their quiet demise. We've been mighty lucky to escape predator carnage on our mountain. Oh, coyotes and foxes have showed up near Duck Soup Pond now and then, but upon confronting Mother Goose's impressive wing span, the coyotes gave up and retreated. The foxes have scattered an occasional duck nest and helped themselves to eggs, but gratefully, our good and faithful dogs have bushwhacked the scoundrels.
Recently, though, something has been walking off with our ducks, one at a time. 'Twas an abduction that not even our guardian, Corky, had been able to thwart. What's worse, the culprit managed to escape with our beloved old Mother Goose!
She and her mate, Mr. Toulouse, had resided at our pond since the day they were hatched and hitched over 20 years ago. They practiced what many don't in this day and age, promising to love and care for one another forever.
The immediate neighbors were troubled over the loss of our waterfowl, referring to the Toulouse couple as "a regular institution." They readily volunteered in the search, arrest, and prosecution of the marauder.
Since we hadn't seen foxes lurking around for a year, I tossed them off my top ten assassin's list. Wiley Coyote was next, and the local sow bear bit the dust after breaking and entering a neighbor's freezer. I scratched the lone wolf, for he departed after a well-aimed bullet rocketed over his head. Could it be a bobcat, cougar, or even a mountain lion? My closest neighbor's dogs were not even a thought, nor the radio-collared retrievers up the road.
Finally, in the midst of a wicked spring storm, I spotted a huge yellowish flash burrowing under the fence in deep snow and vanishing in a cloud of white. We didn't have to wait long, for upon stepping outdoors one day, Corky stopped to sniff and growl. Contemplating another seizure, there was the yellow thief sloshing through the pond threatening waterfowl. He fled the scene after several blasts of my earsplitting air horn, this time his M.O. and attire unmistakable.
The mystery was solved.
Our local Game Warden was kind enough to chat with the dog's owners, but didn't have the authority to take drastic steps. His threat didn't take, for the bandit still ran at large. So, I wrote a polite, but no-nonsense message, to tether their brute or deal with the County Animal Warden and a court date.
The St. Bernard/cross hasn't been seen since.
The unrelenting gander has frantically honked and searched every nook and cranny for Mother Goose for two weeks. More than twenty undisturbed years had kept the Toulouses healthy and content. Forever alert, the pair had guarded our home and hearth and all that
live nearby.
Our hearts ached watching this good and loyal friend so dreadfully lonely and unhappy.
When feeding the waterfowl the other evening, I noted the old gander floating in the water with his head tucked beneath his wing. He was unresponsive to his favorite grains and I feared his grief was affecting his appetite.
No matter the size or intellect of our beloved pets and ranch friends, they do grieve. Nobody will ever convince me they don't.
The following morning I found him alone and cold under our deck. His heart had broken.
We saw it with our dogs and kitties, our donkeys, and now our waterfowl. Nonetheless, our birds and beasts kindle glorious memories.
"And so, I bid a fond farewell old friend. Rainbow Bridge and your dear old Mother Goose await, for rest and peace are yours forevermore."
~ Kathe Campbell
(Kathe and her husband, Ken, live on a 7000 ft. western Montana mountain.)
Those who know me recognize there's no such thing as "just animals" in my lingo. Them's fightin' words.
Most all the beloved animals on our ranch have lived to ripe old ages leaving us to mourn their quiet demise. We've been mighty lucky to escape predator carnage on our mountain. Oh, coyotes and foxes have showed up near Duck Soup Pond now and then, but upon confronting Mother Goose's impressive wing span, the coyotes gave up and retreated. The foxes have scattered an occasional duck nest and helped themselves to eggs, but gratefully, our good and faithful dogs have bushwhacked the scoundrels.
Recently, though, something has been walking off with our ducks, one at a time. 'Twas an abduction that not even our guardian, Corky, had been able to thwart. What's worse, the culprit managed to escape with our beloved old Mother Goose!
She and her mate, Mr. Toulouse, had resided at our pond since the day they were hatched and hitched over 20 years ago. They practiced what many don't in this day and age, promising to love and care for one another forever.
The immediate neighbors were troubled over the loss of our waterfowl, referring to the Toulouse couple as "a regular institution." They readily volunteered in the search, arrest, and prosecution of the marauder.
Since we hadn't seen foxes lurking around for a year, I tossed them off my top ten assassin's list. Wiley Coyote was next, and the local sow bear bit the dust after breaking and entering a neighbor's freezer. I scratched the lone wolf, for he departed after a well-aimed bullet rocketed over his head. Could it be a bobcat, cougar, or even a mountain lion? My closest neighbor's dogs were not even a thought, nor the radio-collared retrievers up the road.
Finally, in the midst of a wicked spring storm, I spotted a huge yellowish flash burrowing under the fence in deep snow and vanishing in a cloud of white. We didn't have to wait long, for upon stepping outdoors one day, Corky stopped to sniff and growl. Contemplating another seizure, there was the yellow thief sloshing through the pond threatening waterfowl. He fled the scene after several blasts of my earsplitting air horn, this time his M.O. and attire unmistakable.
The mystery was solved.
Our local Game Warden was kind enough to chat with the dog's owners, but didn't have the authority to take drastic steps. His threat didn't take, for the bandit still ran at large. So, I wrote a polite, but no-nonsense message, to tether their brute or deal with the County Animal Warden and a court date.
The St. Bernard/cross hasn't been seen since.
The unrelenting gander has frantically honked and searched every nook and cranny for Mother Goose for two weeks. More than twenty undisturbed years had kept the Toulouses healthy and content. Forever alert, the pair had guarded our home and hearth and all that
live nearby.
Our hearts ached watching this good and loyal friend so dreadfully lonely and unhappy.
When feeding the waterfowl the other evening, I noted the old gander floating in the water with his head tucked beneath his wing. He was unresponsive to his favorite grains and I feared his grief was affecting his appetite.
No matter the size or intellect of our beloved pets and ranch friends, they do grieve. Nobody will ever convince me they don't.
The following morning I found him alone and cold under our deck. His heart had broken.
We saw it with our dogs and kitties, our donkeys, and now our waterfowl. Nonetheless, our birds and beasts kindle glorious memories.
"And so, I bid a fond farewell old friend. Rainbow Bridge and your dear old Mother Goose await, for rest and peace are yours forevermore."
~ Kathe Campbell
(Kathe and her husband, Ken, live on a 7000 ft. western Montana mountain.)