Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The snuffling warbler


Yesterday morning, I stood behind a clump of cottonwoods hoping the birds wouldn't notice me or my partner, a lovely retired physician from Rhode Island named Lyman. Lyman moved off to the other side of the cottonwoods, and after a bit I heard him crunching around. And snorting gently.

Now, I'd only known the man for a day or so, but I didn't recall him snuffling. I wondered briefly if I could write shareholder reports with one arm.

Moose can be aggressive, especially with calf. I'd prefer to give bears a wide berth. Bison, too.

Lyman was nowhere. I hoped he wasn't heading for the beast in the bushes, but I didn't want to be breakfast, either. In the wilderness, it's every gal for herself, I figured. Ciao, Lyman.

On my retreat, I hissed at him to follow me. He did, and we backed up far enough to see two large bison munching.

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