Well, after a rough and tumble life in the lettuce industry, I had decided to settle down a bit and get a real job. Yep, workin for the Watsonville City Water dept as a mud gopher. No explanation needed there. I was real proud of the wife for finding us a rural place to live. 12 acres with a 2 bdrm cabin. 11 acres of hillsides, and 1 acre of driveway, back yard and cabin. The address? 429a Hecker Pass Hwy rt 152. Don't be laughin now, 'cause I only had to cough up 25$ a month rent for it all, and that included 2 tractors to play on, & a seasonal creek right behind the cabin.
Had a cat that was an expert at catching birds. She would lay low at the base of the tallest weeds next to the creek. When a bird would land on the top of a weed, the cat would spring up and nail it every time. About a year later, she got really good at catching jack rabbits. She had to hold her head up as high as she could with the rabbit's neck in her mouth, and straddle the rabbit as she dragged it home. We called her whiskers, 'cause she didn't have any for a while after the oldest son cut 'em off with scissors when she was a kitten. He was only 3 then I think. He got worse later.
Anyway, We bought a nice little black lab puppy, and he puked all the way home. We named him Barf. He was kind of clumsy, but got real clumsy and red-eyed when My brother Roger would pay us a visit. You see, Roger would always bring a quart of beer for himself, and one for Barf. An old hubcap served as Barf's stein. Roger was always a crack shot with a rifle, and one day there at the cabin he once again proved what a great shot he was. He pointed out a buzzard overhead that was so high it should have been wearing an oxygen mask.
It actually looked like a blackbird way up there in the sky. It was gliding in tight circles, and Roger took careful aim, said "watch this, I'm going to lead him by half a circle". He squeezed off a shot with his .22 and we waited for several seconds. Suddenly, we saw some feathers fly out of the buzzard, and it sort of folded its wings back and sailed at about a 45 degree angle down and eventually crashed into the trees up the mountainside at least a quarter mile away. It sounded like a car crashing into them. really loud. We assumed it was dead.
From the upper end of the back yard, a trail extended all the way up to the sharpest hair-pin turn on the hwy. It was fairly steep in places, but walkable all the way. Must have been 250 yds or so to the hwy. One morning I decided to walk up the trail and then down the edge of the 2 lane hwy to the driveway which was another maybe 300 yds long. A nice early morning walk. I grabbed the Benjamin pellet rifle and started out for the trail, and for some reason the pup wouldn't follow me. I told him several times to come on, but he would hang his head and mosey back toward the doorstep of the cabin. I should have smelled trouble, he did.
He was nearing full size now, and it just didn't seem right that he would pass up a chance to go on a hike. Oh well, I trapsed on up the trail without him. There was dew on the clover under the towering redwood trees, and the aroma of the redwood loam mixed with the sweet smell of the flowers and small trees and greenery that grow in the creek was mighty invigorating. I was about 2/3 of the way to the hwy when I stopped suddenly. Something had caught my eye. Right there in front of me was a disturbed creekbed. Something had been dragged along for at least 50 feet, and oh sh-t, there it was! A full grown doe with the chest opened up. There was so much steam rising from the hole that a huge pot of boiling water in -30 degree weather wouldn't have done it justice.
I couldn't believe it, I walked over the ten or so feet to stand right next to the doe looking down at the big round hole in her side, and suddenly the hackles went up with gusto on the back of my neck. Something moved in the thicket not ten feet away. Here I was with a pellet gun - may as well have been a water pistol, and the thicket right there contained a mountain lion. I switched my grip from the stock to the barrel to use as a club, and slowly backed away to the trail and continued on my way as if nothing was wrong. Real hard to do in that situation, believe me. That was the end of that encounter - sort of.
About 2 weeks later I came home from work to find a deer leg on the porch. The dumb dog had gone up to the carcass and dragged a deer leg down to the cabin and was proud of it. I knew this meant trouble, and took the leg way up the hillside and threw it into a huge blackberry thicket. There, that would take care of that. Wrong, remember a deer has 4 legs. Yep, I had to do the same thing 3 more times, and he still managed to retrieve at least one of the legs from the blackberry thicket. I should have realized what was about to happen, but didn't.
It was in the middle of the night, about 3 am or so. My God, What's That? A hellish pounding sound was coming from under the cabin. Barf was screaming bloody murder - yes, that's exactly what it was. Barf was being murdered right about underneath my bed! The lion must have been slapping Barf and knocking him into all the 4x4 support posts. A man with a sledghammer couldn't have made any more noise, and not a constant. I leaped out of bed and slipped on my levis and slippers, grabbed my flashlight, 12 guage and some Federal 4s - biggest I had right then. I raced out the door and around the lower side of the house in time to hear the lion headed up the hillside and already out of flashlight range.
The worst part was the lion apparently left with Barf in his jaws, because we never did find him. That Da-n lion must have busted every bone in the poor dog's body, and then took him away for a meal. We moved away a few months later. I wanted to avenge My dog's murder, and the wife, expecting our daughter a couple of months later, won out. I never did get the lion, but oh, I wanted it - trust me.
That was run-ins 2 & 3. # 5 will be along soon, but it's a shorter one.
Thanks for sharing a sad but true story with me,
Terry B
Had a cat that was an expert at catching birds. She would lay low at the base of the tallest weeds next to the creek. When a bird would land on the top of a weed, the cat would spring up and nail it every time. About a year later, she got really good at catching jack rabbits. She had to hold her head up as high as she could with the rabbit's neck in her mouth, and straddle the rabbit as she dragged it home. We called her whiskers, 'cause she didn't have any for a while after the oldest son cut 'em off with scissors when she was a kitten. He was only 3 then I think. He got worse later.
Anyway, We bought a nice little black lab puppy, and he puked all the way home. We named him Barf. He was kind of clumsy, but got real clumsy and red-eyed when My brother Roger would pay us a visit. You see, Roger would always bring a quart of beer for himself, and one for Barf. An old hubcap served as Barf's stein. Roger was always a crack shot with a rifle, and one day there at the cabin he once again proved what a great shot he was. He pointed out a buzzard overhead that was so high it should have been wearing an oxygen mask.
It actually looked like a blackbird way up there in the sky. It was gliding in tight circles, and Roger took careful aim, said "watch this, I'm going to lead him by half a circle". He squeezed off a shot with his .22 and we waited for several seconds. Suddenly, we saw some feathers fly out of the buzzard, and it sort of folded its wings back and sailed at about a 45 degree angle down and eventually crashed into the trees up the mountainside at least a quarter mile away. It sounded like a car crashing into them. really loud. We assumed it was dead.
From the upper end of the back yard, a trail extended all the way up to the sharpest hair-pin turn on the hwy. It was fairly steep in places, but walkable all the way. Must have been 250 yds or so to the hwy. One morning I decided to walk up the trail and then down the edge of the 2 lane hwy to the driveway which was another maybe 300 yds long. A nice early morning walk. I grabbed the Benjamin pellet rifle and started out for the trail, and for some reason the pup wouldn't follow me. I told him several times to come on, but he would hang his head and mosey back toward the doorstep of the cabin. I should have smelled trouble, he did.
He was nearing full size now, and it just didn't seem right that he would pass up a chance to go on a hike. Oh well, I trapsed on up the trail without him. There was dew on the clover under the towering redwood trees, and the aroma of the redwood loam mixed with the sweet smell of the flowers and small trees and greenery that grow in the creek was mighty invigorating. I was about 2/3 of the way to the hwy when I stopped suddenly. Something had caught my eye. Right there in front of me was a disturbed creekbed. Something had been dragged along for at least 50 feet, and oh sh-t, there it was! A full grown doe with the chest opened up. There was so much steam rising from the hole that a huge pot of boiling water in -30 degree weather wouldn't have done it justice.
I couldn't believe it, I walked over the ten or so feet to stand right next to the doe looking down at the big round hole in her side, and suddenly the hackles went up with gusto on the back of my neck. Something moved in the thicket not ten feet away. Here I was with a pellet gun - may as well have been a water pistol, and the thicket right there contained a mountain lion. I switched my grip from the stock to the barrel to use as a club, and slowly backed away to the trail and continued on my way as if nothing was wrong. Real hard to do in that situation, believe me. That was the end of that encounter - sort of.
About 2 weeks later I came home from work to find a deer leg on the porch. The dumb dog had gone up to the carcass and dragged a deer leg down to the cabin and was proud of it. I knew this meant trouble, and took the leg way up the hillside and threw it into a huge blackberry thicket. There, that would take care of that. Wrong, remember a deer has 4 legs. Yep, I had to do the same thing 3 more times, and he still managed to retrieve at least one of the legs from the blackberry thicket. I should have realized what was about to happen, but didn't.
It was in the middle of the night, about 3 am or so. My God, What's That? A hellish pounding sound was coming from under the cabin. Barf was screaming bloody murder - yes, that's exactly what it was. Barf was being murdered right about underneath my bed! The lion must have been slapping Barf and knocking him into all the 4x4 support posts. A man with a sledghammer couldn't have made any more noise, and not a constant. I leaped out of bed and slipped on my levis and slippers, grabbed my flashlight, 12 guage and some Federal 4s - biggest I had right then. I raced out the door and around the lower side of the house in time to hear the lion headed up the hillside and already out of flashlight range.
The worst part was the lion apparently left with Barf in his jaws, because we never did find him. That Da-n lion must have busted every bone in the poor dog's body, and then took him away for a meal. We moved away a few months later. I wanted to avenge My dog's murder, and the wife, expecting our daughter a couple of months later, won out. I never did get the lion, but oh, I wanted it - trust me.
That was run-ins 2 & 3. # 5 will be along soon, but it's a shorter one.
Thanks for sharing a sad but true story with me,
Terry B
