Sunday, September 04, 2005

First there Was The Dog, Continued

"And I'm here to tell ya we ain't got us no mountain lions in Iowa."

Not all that easy speaking to a half deaf old man over the phone, but after several minutes of repeating the same thing, louder and louder yet, he finally understood what I was trying to get across.

I wasn't drunk or hallucinating or playing a prank, I'd not only seen a cougar but got off two shots before it reversed direction and made it into the tree line. The blood trail was easy enough for a blind man to follow, and while I'm certainly no Daniel Boone, I'd just shot an animal and wasn't going to leave it to die a slow and agonizing death, so I slipped the cell phone back into my pocket and headed into the woods.

The dog? No sign of him. I'd gone outside for our showdown and nothing makes a man feel as dumb as when he's all worked up with no foe to go at. Stainless steel .357 tugging away at my belt, adrenaline flowing to beat the band, and no rabid beast in sight, but I was in for another surprise that I'll try to relate exactly as it happened.

Chesty, yeah I know, go ahead and name the dumb thing but in my mind that's what I'd been calling him so why not let it all out in the open, Chesty wasn't waiting for me so I blew out a breath I didn't know I was holding and thought to have a look around. Parts of the back yard area are overgrown with scrub where the property abuts public land, and it's flea and tick season so I didn't just plunge into the bramble bushes and sticker vines. I did get close enough to look past the old dead fallen tree, and was leaning forward when I heard the mother of all hisses.

Freezing from fear is one thing, staying perfectly still to process a strange noise is quite another, and I'll be up front about it, as soon as I'd let the breath go the adrenaline had left me like air hissing from a leaking balloon, so who knows how I would have reacted if I was still in Oog the caveman mode searching for the cave bear that ate Chicago. The sound puzzled me, I stood there perfectly still and that's probably what saved me from one awful raking from claws that'd put a decent sized paring knife to shame.

A rustle, a blur, one hell of a big flash of movement, and since I had my feet under me I used the muscles from both legs to jump in the opposite direction. Old habits, thank the powers that be for old habits and while I'm in the thanking mode hats off to Sturm Ruger & Company. The revolver came out of the holster as if it knew what was expected of it, and from long hours of practice the hammer was back and ready to drop even before the gun was pointed.

Pointed at one of the biggest cats I've ever been so close to. Now, I won't say he was the size of an African Lion, or even as big as an Indonesian Tiger, but a good 300 pounds of steely-grey muscle was flexing to have another go at me, and the revolver fired just as his back legs were pushing off.

Said I couldn't track like Daniel Boone but never said I couldn't shoot. First round hit him just inside the left front leg, and he skidded more than leapt at me, gave that animal shake of the head that equates to the human "huh", and gathered himself for another try.

Few gunfights are won by the fella who stands still and takes his aim as if he had all the time in the world to knock those beer cans off the back fence post, so I dove to the side again and the race between my "mature" reflexes and experience against his wounded animal power and speed was on.

Wasn't a long race, even seemed slow motion like, and I barely made it out of the way of those talons, firing again just as I landed on the dewy grass. I rolled, hell if a grunting lumber can be called a roll, then that's what I did to get myself back into a kneeling position.

No cat. With my free hand I brushed the dirt and grass and blood away from my face, brought the gun back to the good to go level, and looked around. Still no cat. It was still a rather cool morning but the perspiration was running into my eyes and I really needed to calm my breathing down and why was the sweat all brown and dirty and red.

That's right, I did say blood, how'd I forget that. His leaping swipe hadn't missed me at all and the fact that I'd felt no pain was nothing to write home about. We go into combat mode and the last thing that the brain needs to say to the body is, hey, hold on a sec, we're hurt. Pain comes after a while, after the threat is gone and when it is time to lick the wounds and think about healing. Survive first, then heal. Problem with us modern and all so sophisticated types is that we stop and think when stopping and thinking can be the worst thing to do.

With every dab the handkerchief came back with less and less blood, so I wasn't in danger of expiring anytime soon, and if I calmed down some the shock that was trying to gain a foothold would go back to wherever it bides when we don't need it. I took out the cellphone, god how I hate these things but at least I didn't have to walk back into the house looking all frazzled and bloody, and dialed the number I should have called weeks ago.

And man but did I ever feel bad. Not for me, or even for the cougar, he did what wild animals do and I did what men who want to live do back, no I felt bad for Chesty. I was all hissy fitted because he growled at me. Snapped even. But Chesty's nose was a thousand times better than mine and all he was doing was paying back someone who'd shown him some kindness.

The dog met me at the trashcan and tried to warn me, don't come back here, get away, go back to wherever it is you go, but go. Now.

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