(no subject)
October 15, 1998
Dropping the trappers also meant the Animal Damage Control program stopped using helicopters to control the coyote packs up on the big cow outfits in the north end of the county. Furthermore, no control meant soon the Mertzon, Barnhart, and Big Lake townsites were going to be overrun by the packs, ending the days of free ranging pets and beginning the times of confining children to secured areas.
On the first rainy afternoon in months and months, a reorganization meeting convened at the courthouse. The full Commissioner's Court, about a dozen ranchers, and four Animal Damage Control personnel were present.
I was wearing a floppy brimmed hat. To give the impression the ranchers' delegation amounted to more than the actual number, I kept my hat on. I was not only hoping to fool the Court, but to pull the brim over my face to hide how embarrassed I was at our camp's turnout.
The judge and commissioners acted favorably toward protecting the community from an epidemic of predators. A guy representing a sportsman's group proposed that lease hunters put up 25 bucks a season and be given prizes for helping control predators on their leases. An old friend from my school board days suggested the ranchers pay $30 a section, just like we had been paying.
Then I blew off my big yapper and suggested the Salvation Army might help us fight coyotes. (Mother blamed my inappropriate behavior on her brother, scaring me as a child by jumping out from behind the barn wrapped in a Mexican wolf hide late one evening. Perhaps talking about coyotes revived the phobia.)
Nobody even smiled. Cousin Goat Whiskers the Younger jumped up and went out to smoke his tenth cigarette of the afternoon, one of my other cousins looked like he might take up smoking, and the old school board pal stared mesmerized by a moth circling the skylight. No doubt he was recalling the many nights when superintendents and the board blanched at my outbursts.
The county agent broke the silence by suggesting an ad hoc board be nominated to contact other ranchers to hold another meeting.
Many a time, I've wished for a word retriever to catch my spouting off in midair. The heaviest caliber weapon the Salvation Army issues is a tambourine to shake over the iron pots at Christmas. Decked out in gray and red uniforms, emanating charity and good will, they hardly fit the profile of coyote fighters. For the first time of the afternoon, I was glad the audience was so small.
At the next meeting, the county agent showed his trapping skills by smoking beef brisket and boiling beans to bring the herders into closer range. After lunch, by-laws passed and a board was elected. The group adopted a new program of including deer hunters to join at $30 apiece. We agreed to award prizes to the redcap gaining the most points for controlling predators.
Goat Whiskers suggested an elk head be mounted for first prize. The only objection I saw to giving away a bull elk's head as an award was that the only game farmer in the county gave me a lesson on selling solidmouth ewes 35 and a half years ago this fall that is still fresh. So fresh that if he offered to sell me an elk's head, I'd demand the director of the Game and Fish Commission tooth him before the embalming fluid the taxidermist used sealed his mouth shut.
I felt faint from being quiet, but I never uttered a word louder than a few weak "ayes" to support the motions on the floor. Quite a number left checks on the table. Looks like we may keep the program another year. I just hope the minutes from the first meeting skip my part about the Salvation Army ...
Dropping the trappers also meant the Animal Damage Control program stopped using helicopters to control the coyote packs up on the big cow outfits in the north end of the county. Furthermore, no control meant soon the Mertzon, Barnhart, and Big Lake townsites were going to be overrun by the packs, ending the days of free ranging pets and beginning the times of confining children to secured areas.
On the first rainy afternoon in months and months, a reorganization meeting convened at the courthouse. The full Commissioner's Court, about a dozen ranchers, and four Animal Damage Control personnel were present.
I was wearing a floppy brimmed hat. To give the impression the ranchers' delegation amounted to more than the actual number, I kept my hat on. I was not only hoping to fool the Court, but to pull the brim over my face to hide how embarrassed I was at our camp's turnout.
The judge and commissioners acted favorably toward protecting the community from an epidemic of predators. A guy representing a sportsman's group proposed that lease hunters put up 25 bucks a season and be given prizes for helping control predators on their leases. An old friend from my school board days suggested the ranchers pay $30 a section, just like we had been paying.
Then I blew off my big yapper and suggested the Salvation Army might help us fight coyotes. (Mother blamed my inappropriate behavior on her brother, scaring me as a child by jumping out from behind the barn wrapped in a Mexican wolf hide late one evening. Perhaps talking about coyotes revived the phobia.)
Nobody even smiled. Cousin Goat Whiskers the Younger jumped up and went out to smoke his tenth cigarette of the afternoon, one of my other cousins looked like he might take up smoking, and the old school board pal stared mesmerized by a moth circling the skylight. No doubt he was recalling the many nights when superintendents and the board blanched at my outbursts.
The county agent broke the silence by suggesting an ad hoc board be nominated to contact other ranchers to hold another meeting.
Many a time, I've wished for a word retriever to catch my spouting off in midair. The heaviest caliber weapon the Salvation Army issues is a tambourine to shake over the iron pots at Christmas. Decked out in gray and red uniforms, emanating charity and good will, they hardly fit the profile of coyote fighters. For the first time of the afternoon, I was glad the audience was so small.
At the next meeting, the county agent showed his trapping skills by smoking beef brisket and boiling beans to bring the herders into closer range. After lunch, by-laws passed and a board was elected. The group adopted a new program of including deer hunters to join at $30 apiece. We agreed to award prizes to the redcap gaining the most points for controlling predators.
Goat Whiskers suggested an elk head be mounted for first prize. The only objection I saw to giving away a bull elk's head as an award was that the only game farmer in the county gave me a lesson on selling solidmouth ewes 35 and a half years ago this fall that is still fresh. So fresh that if he offered to sell me an elk's head, I'd demand the director of the Game and Fish Commission tooth him before the embalming fluid the taxidermist used sealed his mouth shut.
I felt faint from being quiet, but I never uttered a word louder than a few weak "ayes" to support the motions on the floor. Quite a number left checks on the table. Looks like we may keep the program another year. I just hope the minutes from the first meeting skip my part about the Salvation Army ...
posted by George Noelke at 9:32 AM
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