The sights and sounds of Linda’s Last Chance Ranch have taken on
a new meaning.
The sights and sounds of Linda’s Last Chance Ranch have taken on a new meaning. In the last two weeks, the ranch has been hit by bandit predators. I’ve learned to listen to the squirrels, the birds and the other sounds animals make when a predator is near.
When Jim and I arrived home last Wednesday we found our herd of chickens squawking nervously and baby chicks scurrying in every direction. As it turned out, their mamma was the latest victim of a bobcat attack. Naturally, I wanted to know where the critter made its attack. My instincts guided me to find the area where I found the fluff of feathers.
So now we have a dozen orphaned chicks running around like the Dead-End Kids, with no adult supervision. Without their mamma around to guide them, Jim’s biggest fear is they’ll grow up to a life of crime, drugs and alcohol.
“I can’t do the nature thing,” he said. “It’s too sad.”
But not only are we being attacked by the bobcat population, which has increased its presence since our chicken herd has grown. A few other chicken-lovin’ critters have joined forces.
The very next day In broad daylight, a huge skunk came running across the bottom of the hill near our herd of orphaned chickens. Frick, the lone cock-a-doodle-doo, gave the alarm. He clucked and squawked danger was closer than he cared for. By time I grabbed the gun, the skunk disappeared in the creek bed.
Two days later in the middle of night I heard some heavy feet running by our bedroom window. What do I spy but two huge – and I mean huge – intimidating raccoons heading toward the hay barn where our chicken herd is locked up at night.
Without hesitation I made a mad dash towards them, brandishing arms and shouting obscenities. They bolted at the sight and sound of a naked crazy lady chasing them down the driveway.
We decided a few weeks ago that I would be in charge of weapons after an incident when Jim couldn’t hit the side of a barn. “That’s scary,” said my loved one.
Jim prided himself on his rifle expertise from his military days, but let me tell you, that was 40 years ago. My sweetheart still believes he has the reflexes and the eyes of a 20-year-old.
It was around midnight when a bobcat nearly made off with Frick, but we were out the door before any harm was done. The bobcat seemed shocked at what humans look like without any clothes on, but it didn’t bother to run away. It stood there, daring Jim, who had a loaded shotgun aimed right at it.
Jim, thinking like a male, like a Marine, felt he should have the gun. BAM! The night air was cracked by a resonating sound, which did not phase the bobcat; not a single pellet pierced him. BAM! BAM! BAM! the shots rang out, and Jim missed his target about 100 feet away.
“I can’t believe I missed! How could I miss?!?” he exclaimed.
The bobcat moved a few feet and appeared to be mocking Jim’s long-gone talent for accuracy. I, on the other hand, have kept my eye on the target and my reflexes in check because I have six grandbabies to keep up with. I think women have more stamina than men because women are for the most part the caregivers.
Living in the country is a tough reality for my dear partner, but he is most impressed at my ability to react in a crisis: “Get out of the way, she has a gun.”
I think I’ll take my soldier son’s advice and plant myself on top of the roof of the house with a high-caliber rifle and night scope, looking for critters in all the wrong places.
