...where the wildlife is Wild.

This morning when I went outside to feed the alpacas and llamas, they all rose from their kushed positions and started toward the shelter, our usual feeding dance.  But something different happened this morning, all of a sudden one of them was alarming at something in the treeline beyond the fencing.  This is not unusual, they will alarm at deer, at bobcats, at the neighbor's dog, or even raccoons.  But this morning's alarm was unusual with me there, and from one, two ran to join the first, and then the whole gang of girls, less the eldest, was standing in the corner of that subpasture; and this alarm was more concerned than their usual.  And then one of the boys joined in from their pasture, south of the area of concern.  I continued my typical trek, to collect their feed and carry it toward their shelter...and they were still alarming.  So I set everything down and opened the gate into the pasture and started walking toward them to see what inconvenient wildlife had wandered too close.  I commonly don't see what they see, unless it moves, because they are sometimes looking deeper into the trees than me, with their sharp prey eyes and ears.  And this time was no exception, I didn't see anything until I got closer.  What I saw convinced me the boys in the south pasture were alarming out of sympathy, because I only saw shadows.  But the closer I walked, that shadow started to develop an outline against the bracken fern behind it.  I'm still not sure if it had come when the girls rose and started moving, or if it had been bedded down there and just sat up when the girls rose and started moving, but that shadowy outline was the shape of two round ears against a round head.  

Last year, in April, I had gotten up to feed and the boys were alarming.  I take roll when I get outside, a way of checking on the gang, and usually my first indication that something is wrong with somebody.  Like the time Brigid was not with the girls, and was down, in the shelter, and never got up.  In April of 2019 because I saw only two of the boys, I headed straight to the boys' pasture, and eventually found the body of my youngest boy, Happ, over by the fenceline.  Just on the other side of the fenceline, all the grass had been torn up, like something had been caught in it and struggled to get free.  But Happ was on the inside of the fence, and nothing seemed amiss apart from the fact that his normally white fiber was muddy and black, which is why I hadn't seen him when I first got into the pasture.  After a bit of investigation, I found telltale prints in the muddy parts, and had to call in Fish and Wildlife to confirm a cougar predation, and that dug up grass was the cougar trying to dig under the fence to get Happ's body to his cache for eating.  So I half-expect bad news any time I go outside now.  

But today, these round ears were black.  This was a small black bear.  And I kept approaching, waving my arms and shouting "Go on, go away big bear, SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH, go away big bear."  And it turned and ran for the trees, and I expect it may still be there, waiting for the next unguarded moment.

But this is living in the foothills, where around me so much clear-cutting is happening under the infinite wisdom of the Bureau of Land Management, and most of my acreage is naturally treed and will remain so.  "Perfect cougar habitat" one officer of F&W had said.  

Apparently, just as perfect for black bear.