Tag Archives: Native captive

Killing Paper Coyotes

A brilliant red cardinal hopped twice. The songster stopped. Its crimson top knot canted to its left. A potential morsel on the thawing earth held its full attention. It hopped twice more, then took flight for no apparent reason. Over … Continue reading

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A Strange Mix of Frustration and Elation

Five Canada geese winged northwest. Silent, the black-necked grey ghosts flew in a lopsided wedge, three birds to the right, one to the left. Stroking hard and steady, the geese left little doubt as to their destination: the lily-pad flats, … Continue reading

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Speak Up, Promote and Educate

A muffled yelp broke the silence. Light sprinkles pitter-patted. The leaves, the cedar boughs, the barren twigs overhead were all damp, yet that December morn, in the Year of our Lord, 1797, dawned pleasant and serene. A thick-branched autumn olive … Continue reading

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“…the less I really know”

Two hens walked straight away. The pair stayed in the dirt path; their actions seemed unnatural, reluctant. Crisp putts hung in the still cold air. The two wild turkeys hugged the windrowed snow pile filled with uprooted cornstalks as they … Continue reading

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A Necessary Clash of Centuries

Moccasins traversed that path before, hundreds, nay, thousands of times. Down the hill, across the isthmus, around the knoll, beside the sink hole and up the rise is a course followed without much conscious thought. Leather hunting boots made that … Continue reading

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Brought Back to Reality

Geese swooshed westward, tree-top high. Over the next few minutes, occasional kehonks told of a big swing out over the River Raisin’s bottomlands, then to the south, then back east and off into oblivion. The calm air felt cool and … Continue reading

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Paying Humble Reverence

Winter moccasins stalked a favored lair. The scrub apple tree appeared taller, the two red cedar trees fuller with more dead branches on the trunks’ lower third. The first autumn olive to the south arched eastward, its upper branches touched … Continue reading

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The Intent of This Glorious Journey

A button buck stood and stared. Thick black hair bristled down the top of his neck, not long, but noticeable. The black mane, a genetic trait that first appeared forty or so years ago, shows up from time to time … Continue reading

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