"What's that?" Carter asked.
"What's what?" I heard a dog barking. Carter was cocking his head to the side, intently listening. I couldn't understand why he would do that. I'm certain he's heard a barking dog before.
"You don't mean the dog barking, do you?"
"Yes," he told me.
The sound was suddenly much louder, and I knew why he was interested. It was coming from the mountain behind our house. Dogs don't really go on that mountain. They're allowed to, by all means, invite them in, but I've never seen one on the mountain. A cougar kill, yes. Coyotes, yes. No dogs.
It is a pretty steep mountain.
I barked back at the sound. A dog answered. I didn't understand. I didn't get it yet.
The sound was a roar now. It was excited, driven, unabashed, unrestricted dog bark. Not a stuck-behind-the-fence-in-the-backyard of a house in the suburbs. This was barking. These were hunting dogs. Three of them, and the sound of their pursuit, once heard, is unmistakable. It was pretty exciting. The only dogs I knew who hunted around here were Cougar chasing dogs. But Bart broke his back and had left, been gone a couple years in fact, and his dogs had been stolen. The cougars knew a good thing. They'd been spotted around town several times.
So these dogs are trailing something, something close, 30 yards behind my house. This was news, and I must acknowledge that kid of mine is sharp. He's way ahead of his old man. That's the way it's supposed to be.
The dogs went to the edge of the cliff facing the stream. The trail died. Two of the three went around the drop-off and into the valley. About once a minute one would bay, letting us know the progress being made. But there was no progress; the Cat had slipped away. There's a series of drop offs and ledges and the Cougar must have followed these around the mountain and behind the pursuit. One dog stayed at the top of the cliff, perplexed he could not follow the trail. The other two couldn't find it either, which is why I knew the Cat had slunk along the cliff face, and not hit the stream bottom below.
It was cold outside, 20 degrees, the sky clear and blue and the air sharp. We watched the dogs and listened from inside the house where it was warm. I couldn't imagine climbing hills on this day- last day of the year 06. It was delightful the hunt had passed our way. It was wonderful somewhere in the U.S., with its overcrowded cities and urban sprawl, I-Pods and internet, dogs still gave chase. If you've never heard this sound you are in for a treat when you do. It would be almost impossible to argue the dogs were exploited, hunting was bad, chasing cougars wrong, after hearing the sheer joy and business in their bark.
Sure enough, today I verified the pack was after a cougar. One of the plumbers from Malta had these specialized hounds and had come up to our hills for the day. In the plumbing shop in Malta there are two stuffed cougars. One of them weighed in at capture at 170 pounds.
I'll have to re-evaluate my safety policies regarding the great cats, and my son's exploring the mountain, but it is well worth living in Wild Montana. Well worth it as long as it lasts.
munk
"What's what?" I heard a dog barking. Carter was cocking his head to the side, intently listening. I couldn't understand why he would do that. I'm certain he's heard a barking dog before.
"You don't mean the dog barking, do you?"
"Yes," he told me.
The sound was suddenly much louder, and I knew why he was interested. It was coming from the mountain behind our house. Dogs don't really go on that mountain. They're allowed to, by all means, invite them in, but I've never seen one on the mountain. A cougar kill, yes. Coyotes, yes. No dogs.
It is a pretty steep mountain.
I barked back at the sound. A dog answered. I didn't understand. I didn't get it yet.
The sound was a roar now. It was excited, driven, unabashed, unrestricted dog bark. Not a stuck-behind-the-fence-in-the-backyard of a house in the suburbs. This was barking. These were hunting dogs. Three of them, and the sound of their pursuit, once heard, is unmistakable. It was pretty exciting. The only dogs I knew who hunted around here were Cougar chasing dogs. But Bart broke his back and had left, been gone a couple years in fact, and his dogs had been stolen. The cougars knew a good thing. They'd been spotted around town several times.
So these dogs are trailing something, something close, 30 yards behind my house. This was news, and I must acknowledge that kid of mine is sharp. He's way ahead of his old man. That's the way it's supposed to be.
The dogs went to the edge of the cliff facing the stream. The trail died. Two of the three went around the drop-off and into the valley. About once a minute one would bay, letting us know the progress being made. But there was no progress; the Cat had slipped away. There's a series of drop offs and ledges and the Cougar must have followed these around the mountain and behind the pursuit. One dog stayed at the top of the cliff, perplexed he could not follow the trail. The other two couldn't find it either, which is why I knew the Cat had slunk along the cliff face, and not hit the stream bottom below.
It was cold outside, 20 degrees, the sky clear and blue and the air sharp. We watched the dogs and listened from inside the house where it was warm. I couldn't imagine climbing hills on this day- last day of the year 06. It was delightful the hunt had passed our way. It was wonderful somewhere in the U.S., with its overcrowded cities and urban sprawl, I-Pods and internet, dogs still gave chase. If you've never heard this sound you are in for a treat when you do. It would be almost impossible to argue the dogs were exploited, hunting was bad, chasing cougars wrong, after hearing the sheer joy and business in their bark.
Sure enough, today I verified the pack was after a cougar. One of the plumbers from Malta had these specialized hounds and had come up to our hills for the day. In the plumbing shop in Malta there are two stuffed cougars. One of them weighed in at capture at 170 pounds.
I'll have to re-evaluate my safety policies regarding the great cats, and my son's exploring the mountain, but it is well worth living in Wild Montana. Well worth it as long as it lasts.
munk
Warm winter.
:thumbup: