Runneth Over

What is the wildest thing you have ever seen?

A winter storm?

A cankerous sea?

A forest on fire?

Wild is beautiful. Wild is dangerous. Wild is free. 

-

For the first time today, I have palmed a prickly cactus. The little prickly shits are everywhere. I lay prone, knowing they'll all see me if I lift an inch of my body off the dirt. Seeing me will confirm the fear of danger they drummed up six miles back when they first caught a whiff of me.  

The wind shifting was a sad turn of luck. Like an ambivalent toddler, the wind stopped, looked behind itself, and realized it had been traveling in the wrong direction. The stench of my body odor and tobacco raced from my location to the gathering of speedy goats. The wind tried to blow my hat off, but I clamped it down between my hand and a pleasant bramble of cacti; the second time, I pricked myself this day. 

Like a sprung chain of dominos, each animal raised its head, flared its nostril, twitched its ears, and whipped strong necks backward toward my direction.  

They could not see me, for I had my dick in the dirt and was listening to the earth for a lie or two. I counted off in my head twelve minutes.  

A gentle lift of my neck, allowing one eye to focus on seven distant beige and white bodies with dark black horns, revealed a universal truth. Animals were much more patient than I. 

They bolted for the small hill to the south. I cursed my own name and erected myself to my knees. My rifle, named Sam, resting on his side, bolt up, was tanning in the sun. I lift the scope to my right eye and see the marvelous animals trotting with intentional haste to a land I dare not go. The pronghorn was no dummy. They were fleeing to the only cover on this flat plain. Her land.  

Their deliverance would be temporary. My sister's sanctuary, the sovereign land of all animals, lacked materials essential for long rests. My sliver of land had the one thing everyone in this vast valley desperately needed. I had the water.  

This was not an easy year. The month of May had sipped from our cup that had runneth over, and we was happy to oblige. June used two hands to drink and would not stop doing so until brother July overtook her and lapped up all that was left. August and September, just like us mortals, were left to want. The water was all gone.

I hoped October would bring moisture, but all she fetched was pain. Then, a minor miracle appeared. 

The well had answered kindly when I called for the first time in seventy-two days. The trough had its old companion back. Although shallow and smelling of sulfur, the goddess H2O had returned, but only to me. Every other piece of land up and down this old highway was still desperately dry.

The word that water was back spread like wildfire first within the wildlife community, and the human community eventually got wise through them. 

I was suddenly the most popular man in the valley again. I am no miser. I wish for all to live comfortably. It is so then that my small well and water trough on the north 40 of my ranch is constantly being visited by men on four-wheeled machines or animals on four-legged vessels.  

The antelope would eventually move north, skirt around the rolling range on my sister's north 40, jump the barbed wire fence and sneak down the drainage to my water trough. The idea of waiting for them and then picking them off like strangling fish in a barrel made me sick. Unfortunately, desperate times called for desperate measures. I walk to the top of what I call Clark Hill and plant my ass down near a cluster of rocks about three feet high. This is where I stick my hand with cacti pricks for the third time in one day. 

I scootch to the closest rock to rest my right arm for a sturdy rest. I test putting up my rifle to sight in the water trough. Not a soul in sight.  

The trough is about 300 yards away from where I sit. Not the easiest shot but my .270 short mag hunting rifle will combat the massive drop in elevation and travel true on and into its target when called upon.

The fall sun, which had an intimate relationship with the Indian summer, still radiates the last waves of their steamy romance. I pull my hat back to cover my neck and roll my sleeves down over my arms to protect from big yellow. 

The wind dies down, and for a few hours, all I can hear are some distance rumblings of train cars and the occasional heavy diesel engine of a semi-truck. I take notice of my rifle and see that by the stock, there is a small cacti needle sticking out of the rubbery end of the gun.  

"Apologies, Sam." I toss the needle.

The sun has dipped just enough to cast a significant shadow over the water trough, which sits in the dusty valley. I eye the trough and see a blurry object hovering around the tin basin. A small thud echoes in the distance.  

I put Sam up to my shoulder and squint into the scope. 

The dark object hides behind the trough, which is close to three and a half feet in height. I wait for whatever it is to crawl out from behind, my heart not revving up in anticipation.  

The echo of a bang reverberates again. Something substantial is doing a decent job of banging up my trough. I flip the safety on Sam and start to monitor my breathing. Focusing on five-second breaths, visualizing my pumping heart slowing down the drive-through crossroad of oxidized and non-oxidized blood. 

A poof of dust erupts from behind the trough, and out to the left is a small fuzzy ball of fur, scrambling like a scared cartoon. A blast of noise echoes through the land for the third time. Is someone shooting at this thing? The echo was so faint. Had to be a small caliber rifle at a very long distance. Fools. 

The fuzzy animal is panicking now, legs flailing and tiny stubby tail trying to move faster between the legs.  

At first, I thought it was a badger, possibly a thirsty wolverine, but I could not tell you the last time I saw those angry critters.

The brown ball stalls to look back with only its head turned and lifts a dark snout to smell the air. After a beat, the ball stands up on its hind legs, sticks a little belly out, and lets hang two front paws. 

Bear cub. 

"I'll be damned," I whisper to Sam. I flick his no-go switch back on and slowly release my tense shoulders and arms. 

The cub stares off to the west on two steady legs, looking off at something I can't exactly see.  

Looking through the scope, I see it before I hear it. Another poof of smoke spurts out the earth next to the bear cub, startling the creature. Then the echo roars into existence. Much bigger blast this time. Bigger gun. 

The cub sprints off to the west, and I point my rifle to see where the shots are coming from. On the ridge to the east, right on the border of her land and mine, are two shadowy figures leaning on an expensive-looking ATV.  

"Sunova," I whisper to the wind. I focus on the men, and I recognize them alright. Two local idiots who spend most days drunk and jacked up on steroids and amphetamines. An odd combination out here, but we all have our different hobbies.  

The enormous fellow dressed in a cut-off t-shirt, dusty dungarees, and trucker cap jumps into the driver's seat while the scrawny bugger hangs onto the side like a garbage man.  

They drive down the ridge towards the trough and the bear cub.  

I swing the viewfinder back to the bear and the little guy frozen between hiding and scurrying up the alfalfa-covered hill.

I jump to my feet and start running down the hill as fast as possible. The trough is three football fields away; it would be a miracle to reach it before they do.  

I run for fifty yards until my heart hurts and a boot gives out. I slide to my butt, putting a hand down to stop the crash. Cacti, meet palm. I believe you two have met.  

"Dern." I shout to myself.  

The motorized ATV pulls up to the water trough as I sit on my ass. They kill the engine and start to walk towards the well.  

I have Sam quietly turn off his safety, and I make a bead on the back tire of the ATV. I make mental notes of elevation drop and wind speed, then confidently line up my shot. A slow squeeze is met with a rapid reply of violent recoil and projectile noise, followed by a slight ringing in the ears.  

The blast causes both men to do semi-squat, reactionary arms in the air over their heads. Both look in all directions, then see the cockeyed ATV, one tire looking rather sad. 

The larger of the two pill poppers turns to see me and lifts his rifle to spot me.  

"Down dummy," I yell, Sam now pointing at his tight belly.  

The big oaf lowers the rifle and sets it down on the ground.  

I do the ski hill-lean and push to get back on my feet and walk as slowly as possible towards the hooligans with Sam still trained on them.  

"One rule, boys," I yell as I get closer.  

They are fuming with anger and sweating in the late afternoon sun.  

"What is it?" I ask, standing thirty feet in front of them now. I sideways shuffle to the ATV to view Sam's damage.  

I whistle to a long and soulful tune that, when translated to human speak, would sound like "sheeeeeeet".  

I look back at the idiot duo. The smaller one has his hands balled at his hips, and the larger one now has his massive arms crossed, flexing his last two guns.  

"I asked a question, boys. What's the one rule we have out here?" 

I reach into the cab of the ATV and unlatch the hood with a pop.  

The smaller one mumbles something, and the larger one scolds him for it with a swift backhand to the chest. The smaller one recoils with lost breath.  

"Easy killer, no need to punish for wrong answers." I pry open the hood of the ATV, still training Sam on the larger of the two. I reach in and disconnect the massive battery from the terminal. With a hard pull, I rip out the red terminal wire needed to revive the battery of the ATV. I toss it on the ground, splayed copper wires sparkling in the dwindling sun.  

"Speak up, son. We are burning daylight." I yell and lazily point Sam at the runt.  

I wasn't sure what he said, but I thought I heard the runt mutter no hunting. 

"Final answer?" I ask with a smile.  

I lower Sam and put him by my hip.  

"Bingo. The only law on this god-forsaken slice of heaven is that no animal will be shot on this here land without my say so, written or otherwise." 

The two men look down at their dusty boots. Mr. Olympia reaches for his pocket and retrieves his cell phone.  

I stare in awe at the sheer stupidity these two boys have in spades. Biceps over there tries calling and calling on his useless grey flat brick.  

From the corner of my eye, up on the ridge where the sun is saying her last goodbyes, I see a looming figure lumbering along the spine of the mountain until it blots out the sun.  

The little bear has returned. The tiny brown body is backlit by the burning ball of light.

The scrawny boy sees me looking up, and he gets to the heart of the matter before I do. He gives his statued companion a shove in the shoulder and starts to run to the ATV.  

The little bear cub was not a bear cub. It was, in fact, the head of an exceptionally large and rather angry mama bear.  

With four large legs and a boulder-sized head and shoulders, the Griz gives us the show of a lifetime. She fully erected to almost 9.5 feet when standing and weighed approximately, a lot.

"The wrath of the lord descending," I whisper to myself.  

I hightail it to the ATV, scooping up the red wire. Before I can get to the ATV, the scrawny one has the hood popped back open and the battery up and ready to be hooked back up.  

I slam on my foot breaks and sling Sam on my shoulder. The mama bear is stalking the ridge line, slowly making her calculations. I twist the copper wires into a fine point and find the receiving end where it needs to fit back into the terminal. I can smell the piss of the boy next to me holding the battery. He is shaking so much it looks like a ladybug on a willow branch.  

"Hold'er a tad longer, son." 

I twist, clamp down the connection, and nod for him to drop the battery. He whips one wing nut tight while I spin the other. He rolls into the driver's seat while I slam the light plastic hood of this massively overpriced and obvious overcompensating vehicle. 

I hear another whisper from behind me. I turn to the runt, and he's pointing to his buddy, still standing where we left him. Phone in hand, a look of terror on his face. His feet have grown roots. 

"Keys," the runt says again, pointing at the fool in the cut-off shirt.  

Dern, I think.  

"Alight." 

I swing Sam off my shoulder and toss it to the boy in the driver's seat. 

"If she charges, shoot it," I say to him. 

"What if I miss?" He is shaking, holding Sam.  

"Better shoot me." I smile.  

I do a quick shuffle to the petrified man. The kind of shuffle where you barely lift your boot off the ground, but so close you could still generate an electric shock.  

I approach the man slowly from his left, keeping an eye on the big bear. No sight yet of the youngin'.  

The moment I lay a hand on the shoulder of my frozen foe, two tiny fuzzy paws with needle claws flash out from the bottom of the water trough, followed by the most gosh darn adorable fuzzball head you've ever laid eyes on. His dark nose contrasted with his cinnamon fur, head adorned with two glowing amber eyes. He had charisma. Playful too. Disobedient as well. 

I try to animate the frozen man, but we stare way too long at the cub. We must have finally weirded out the poor guy because he belly hurdled that trough and hoofed it in our opposite direction.  

A small and traveling cry erupts from the cub, and that's all mama needs to make her move. She was coming down the mountain.  

I grab the man as hard as I can by the back of the neck and thrust my other hand under his armpit and up towards his shoulder with the same force. The pressure point I poke is enough to spark the zombie conscious, and the roar of pounding griz paws was the fuel to get his ass a-movin.  

That boy ran faster than any speedy goat I've ever seen out here. He left my ass in the dust and jumped into the ATV passenger seat, yelling at his companion to drive, drive, drive.  

The vehicle whinnied alive, and the straight pipe exhaust rattled the gully. It screamed into gear and whipped by me so fast that the only thing I could see for a while was dust and my hands. 

The ATV climbed the east hill with a whop, whop, whop, thanks to the flat Sam dealt out. The boys took a sharp right south, back towards my sister's land from where the two boils had sprung.  

I watch the fading tail lights of the ATV disappear over the ridge. 

"If I was their daddy," I muse. 

I recognize where I am and, more importantly, remember that there is a massive and protective bear somewheres around me.  

I take a look back at the water trough, which is now about thirty yards away. The little bear is scrambling up the small bluff towards his mama.  

Mama Bear corals and circles around the cub three times, staring daggers at me with each rotation. I think the ATV spooked her some with its obnoxious exhaust and piss-soaked riders.  

I may have peed a little too.

Mama and baby slowly make their way up the bare hill and, at the crest, take a final look at my pitiful soul and decide today was a good day not to eat me. I agreed. With a kick and a lean, they were gone. 

I rest my hands on my hips and dip my head. Sweat poured down my face onto the dusty land, leaving a similar constellation of bodily fluid of what could have been.  

Scanning the surroundings, I noticed my ol' best friend Sam was over yonder glittering in the final rays of sun, calling for me to come to retrieve. 

I get Sam off the dirt, apologize to the fella, and get a fresh drink out of the well. A few pumps, and thank god, the cold and smelly water from under the earth spatters onto my grizzled hands. My cupped hands runneth over.