We are the hunting dogs, Trapper and Dash. While Boots is off wrangling
his cows, we’re busy sniffing out prey. We catch our kill, and put food on
the table. We’re not saying Boots doesn’t provide, or doesn’t have an
important job, but let’s face it, those cows are dumber than a fallen
branch. A really good fence could keep them in line. Hunting, on the other
hand, takes real skill. You have to be quick, not just loud and
frightening. You have to be able to keep up with your prey, and sometimes
wear them out. Most dogs have specialties, but we hunt for everything.
Quail, duck, deer. We don’t go after foxes, though, even though Dash is a
foxhound. Humans don’t eat fox, apparently, so they have no use for it. We
can’t quite relate to that, seeing as we instinctively go after anything
that moves, and isn’t also a dog. We suppose foxes are dogs in their own
way. Perhaps that’s why our humans don’t like their meat. We certainly
wouldn’t want them eating us! We do eat raccoons, Trapper is a coonhound.
Anyway, a few minutes ago, Boots caught the scene of a bobcat. We don’t
hunt them either most of the time, because the humans also have pet cats.
I’m starting to see a pattern here. Or is it just too dangerous to them.
This one’s different. It tried to go after poor Moonica, so we’ve been
dispatched to take care of it. That bobcat knows where it can find food
now, so if we don’t put an end to its life, it’ll come back later. Boots
and our parents can’t watch over the cows all the time. We consider it our
sacred duty to perform the tasks that they can’t stomach. We were bred for
the kill, and we can handle any obstacle that gets in our way.
We can hear our parents following behind us, but they’re giving us the room
we need to find the scent. This bobcat is smart; it knows how to hide itself
pretty well. It’s not perfect, though, and it’s not undetectable. We move
every which way until Trapper finally thinks he knows the exact right
direction to go, and then we follow it. Once we’re close enough, we can
sense it getting farther away. It knows we’re in pursuit, and it doesn’t
want to run into us again. No, it’s not getting off that easy. Nothing will
stop us from protecting our family, and our ranch. We keep going, moving
faster and faster. The scent grows stronger, and we know we’re close. Pretty
soon, we can tell that we’re nearly upon it. We make it over one more ridge,
and there it is, crouched in its den. We don’t know if it thinks it’s safe
from us there, but it’s not. We stop running, and we transform our barks
into growls. We approach cautiously, but menacingly. That is when we see it.
The bobcat isn’t just crouching to protect itself, it’s protecting a litter
of kittens. We stop immediately, and back off. Can we just let this go? If
she has a litter, that’s even more reason for her to come back to our ranch
and try to attack our cows. We can’t just walk away and hope for the best.
We can’t kill her, though, and we certainly can’t kill her babies—which, in
this case, would be the same thing. Since they’re cats, we don’t speak the
same language, but a few things do translate. We go back to barking,
intermixing the growls as needed. We have to get the mother to understand
that we mean business, and that her business is staying as far from
our property as she can possibly be. She can go harass Old Man Larrison’s
animals on his farm. He doesn’t take care of his livestock, or his pets, so
they probably kind of deserve it. When we think the bobcat has gotten the
message, we break away, and head back towards home.
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