George and the Panthers

Whenever the Fourth rolls around, I get to thinking about George.  He served in the British army when he was just a young man, an experience that changed his life dramatically, plus influenced billions of people.  I am lucky enough to have a copy of a textbook featuring his journal entries at the time, a time when he and others were riding through West Virginia.  Now the thing about those journals that struck me, were the accounts about the panthers. They would hang up in the trees and watch the men riding under them on horseback, then drop down on one and try to kill its victim.

Imagine riding along and this huge cat jumps on you.  The very thought just curls my hair.

George, of course, had the last name of Washington, and the textbook was one that was studied at the turn of the last century.  But the story of the panthers is what strikes me in the soul because those panthers aren't around any more to do that.  Wildlife populations are bouncing back around the United States, and slowly as man encroaches on their space, those human/animal encounters are happening more.

Where I live now is the territory of a large cougar that roams the area of a nearby state park. S/he has been observed several times, and because his/her territory can extend for 75 miles at least, s/he affects the lives of almost everyone that I am related to living in this vicinity. Now keep in mind that a cougar in this area was unheard of when I was growing up.  So, too, were wolves; I never heard a thing about them. The most I ever knew about wild animals were wild dogs.  Once in a while my parents would keep me indoors because there had been an influx of wild dogs around and they were certain I could be taken or bitten.  They even went so far as to coach me on how I could get away from wild dogs if attacked.

Now wild dogs are not an issue, but the Timberwolf has returned to the area. So have the black bear.  Last year, a black bear with a head stuck in a pail, wandered into the streets of Frazee, MN.  Because there were crowds of people around for a festival, the bear was shot.  There wasn't enough time to get someone to tranqualize the beast.  Everyone was sad to learn that the bear had been starving to death because it had been seen some thirty miles away two weeks earlier with the pail on its head.  At that time, no one had been able to help the poor beast.  And of course, once it was killed in Frazee, the paper was filled with terrible letters criticizing the kill.

Alaska gets its fair share of encroachment issues.  Last year two walkers were attacked in a residential subdivision in Eagle River while walking their dogs.  A pack of wolves surrounded them, and for luck the women kept their heads.  Using the dogs and lots of noise, they got away. However, it is not unusual at all for maulings, killings and close calls to happen up there.  It's sort of expected.

George saw animals and nature to be conquered.  Yet I have to wonder on this Fourth of July if he might not have taken a more Teddy Roosevelt stand on the current state of our nation's wildlife.  Balance, tolerance, and stewardship must be the future of our wildlife policy.  That or else more people will grow up as I did, where animals never live nearby, and stories were only told of wild dogs.