Sunday, September 13, 2009, 04:01
Bears. . .
As if I don't have enough to worry about. . .
A neighbor stopped over Saturday evening to tell us that a bear had killed two steers belonging to another neighbor and had injured a pony so badly at yet another neighbor's that the pony was not expected to live.
I know there are quite a few bears around. Probably a lot more than people think. The town patrolman in the next township (we live right on the border) told us he had jumped one up from a small clump of brush right around the corner from us when he was mowing the ditches.
Up until this point, though, I had never heard of bears in this area attacking and killing livestock. These are black bears. The steers that were killed probably weighed more than the bear. The neighbor who stopped in said the steers were estimated at 500 pounds. A few miles north of here last year, a bear was supposedly struck and killed by a combine. It turned out that the farmer driving the combine in his cornfield after dark while harvesting corn had hit the bear after it was dead. Someone had shot it. That bear weighed around 700 pounds and was considered some kind of record.
The other neighbor, according to the neighbor who stopped in, had the DNR and the federal wildlife management person come in, and they confirmed that the steers were killed by a bear.
At this time of year, there are berries and corn in the cornfields and any number of things for a bear to eat. Why would it go after the steers and the pony? There are many dear around, too, although I suppose deer are too fast for a bear.
Thirty years ago, there were reports around here of occasional sightings of a bear. Over the years, I think the population must have done quite well. All of the neighbors around us have had bears in their yards after the bird feeders. So far, we haven't had any bears in the yard. . .that I know of. That makes me think twice, though, about putting out bird seed. I haven't put any seed out for the birds this summer because of the raccoons.
Interestingly enough, the Norwegian immigrants used to called raccoons "vasha bjorn" -- washing bears.
Like I said, it's not as if I don't have enough to worry about. Now I can worry about Kajun and Isabelle out in their pastures. I know that there's a bear travel route right across the road from the pastures. It's powerline right-of-way right across the road, so I suppose that makes a convenient path for covering many miles over the hills. I also know people have seen bears traveling the powerline.
The first time we became aware of it was a few years ago when the same neighbor who stopped in Saturday night came tearing over here one summer evening to say she'd seen a bear going over the powerline hill. We went around to the front of the house, and Kajun and Isabelle were enormously upset and uneasy, leading me to believe that they had seen it even if we had not.
People put up bells and streamers around here to try to keep the deer out of their gardens. I wonder what would work for a bear?
LeAnn R. Ralph
Friday, September 11, 2009, 06:38
Midnight Escape
There I was, minding my own business Thursday evening, coming back in from checking on the horses. As I opened the basement door, a black streak zipped out beneath my feet.
"Who was that?" I said.
I did a head count in the basement -- and realized it had been my little black kitty Dora.
Dora is a house cat. She is not allowed outside. Randy has informed me many times that if I let little Dora out, he will disown me. Much to Dora's chagrin. She would like nothing better than to explore outside. On a number of occasions, she has dashed outside if she is downstairs when I bring the horses' feed buckets back in the morning.
But she has never escaped at night.
I went outside.
And immediately realized I would not be able to find a black cat in the dark.
I zipped back into the basement. Was there a windup flashlight downstairs?
No.
I raced up the steps, grabbed a windup from the kitchen and furiously began winding as I hurried outside. I turned on the flashlight when I reached the corner of the house.
"Dora? Oh, Dooooooora. Where are you?"
I made it down to the cedar tree. During the day, if Dora sneaks outside, she likes to go under the low-hanging branches of the big cedar tree growing in front of our walk-out basement.
Sure enough. Dora was crouched beneath the cedar tree.
"Come on, Dora," I said. I swished my hand in the grass, thinking that she might come to investigate the noise.
Nope. In fact, Dora looked frightened. Not to mention poised for flight.
Better not to swish.
After a minute or two, I realized I had no choice but to crawl through the cedar tree branches to get to Dora. With any luck, by the time I got under there, she would not have scampered off.
With cedar branches tearing at my hair and clothes, I made my way toward the basement wall.
"Dora. Here, kitty," I said in my most coaxing voice.
Dora was not coming toward me. But she was not running away, either. I think it was darker outside than she anticipated, and she wasn't too sure about the whole thing, now that she was actually outside.
Finally, I was able to scoop up Dora.
With the cat tucked under one arm and the flashlight in my other hand, I began to crawl out from beneath the cedar tree. One of the bigger branches bent back and then snapped against us.
"HISSSSSS!" Dora spat -- struggling to leap out of my arms.
"Hang on, kitty. We're almost out," I said.
Finally we emerged from the cedar tree.
Now -- how was I going to get the door open while hanging onto the flashlight with one hand and Dora with the other?
I thought for a moment, then I bent my head forward and grasped the strap on the end of the flashlight between my teeth. At least this way, I would have one hand free to open the door.
When we were safely inside and the door was closed behind us, I set Dora down.
"Meow!" she said cheerfully, rushing back to the door.
"Nope," I said. "Nothing doing. One midnight trip outside was enough for you."
And for me, too.
LeAnn R. Ralph