Off Leash
Page 2 Tuesday, SEPTEMBER 10, 2013
Journal entry, July 12th 2013. For the most part, I have little use for Shakespeare, just as it seems he had little use for us canines. In his plays, all the villains are either called dogs, curs, mongrels, or hellhounds. In fact, there is no historical evidence that he ever even owned a dog, but if he did, I’ll bet his name was Spot and Billy was forever banishing him from the house. That is why the line “Out, damned Spot” has always rung with such conviction for me. Lately, another of Shakespeare’s lines has been haunting me. In act 4, scene 1, of Macbeth – you know, the one with the three witches brewing up in the cauldron – the third witch is suddenly overcome with a feeling that there is trouble approaching and cackles, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” Now, I may not share those particular opposable appendages with the old hag, but I do know the feeling of impending doom of which the witch speaks and it’s making me edgy. July 20th 2013. Not to be paranoid about it, but this living in the country is not always the bucolic bliss it is made out to be. It seems that nearly every time I step out my back door I am confronted with the violence and aggression that is woven into the very fabric of the natural world. Last week I was walking in the tall grass looking for a private place to “do my business” as my human dude calls it, when out of no where comes momma deer, all flailing hooves and flaring nostrils. Heck, if she wants her fawn to be safe, don’t leave it in my bathroom! July 22nd 2013. So, this morning I’m in the llama pasture when I smell freshly turned dirt. To my right I see a very large gopher hole that wasn’t there yesterday and I go to investigate. I am just about to stick my muzzle into this super-sized burrow when suddenly the ground starts to vibrate with the sound of growling. A badger then erupts from the hole; her heart filled with rage and her mouth filled with teeth. I haven’t been that scared since the cougars came into the pasture last fall, killing and then partially consuming Kootenay the llama. This survival-of-thefittest thing is getting a little out of hand if you ask me. August 1st 2013. The llama pasture is turning into a regular war zone. This morning I watched a young red tailed hawk swoop down on a gopher and have him for breakfast, and by that I don’t mean he was asked to join the hawk for cheerios. Heck even cat Morley is getting in on the act. Despite the fact that he is only allowed outside for short periods of time and never with out a chaperone, (for fear that the red tails will mistake him for a gopher) Morley is still able to catch and consume a mouse or two on his little forays. August 13th 2013. I was on my way to the pond for my morning dip today when the smell of death came to me on the breeze. I could hear my human calling for Morley, which was not a good sign. I went to investigate the odour and came face to face with a large coyote. She was standing over something in the grass. It wasn’t Morley. It was the twisted form of a lifeless fawn. My man came upon the scene and the coyote reluctantly retreated. Shortly thereafter, we departed as well, leaving the spotted babe were it lay, so that a mother coyote might come back and feed her pups. I’m thinking Shakespeare got it wrong. That thing that’s coming, it’s not something wicked, it’s something wild. And as objectionable as it might be to those of us who have tasted domestication, that wild world is unfolding just as it should, whether we like it or not. August 20th 2013. Morley has been gone for over a week now… Photos and word processing by Dan Mills
daily townsman / daily bulletin
An unrestrained dogumentary.
Did you hear that Taylor? Boulder glances over his shoulder to see what is coming up from behind.
A Wild One: It is too easy for the domesticated to misunderstand a mother coyotes need to kill.
All teeth and rage: A mother badger stands her ground to protect her den.
Live by the sword… Even though his time out of doors was restricted, Morley turned into a prolific hunter. Unfortunately, the hunter may have become the hunted.
An immature red tailed hawk waiting for breakfast to emerge from its hiding place.
Who you callin’ a weasel? Badgers are the second largest member of the weasel family, with only wolverines being bigger and crankier.
What Walt Disney didn’t tell us; Nature’s harsh truth is that death is inextricably linked to life.