Monday, January 24, 2011

Ref Kevin's post on When Animals

Attack, Dad once told me of a day, when he was a kid, when a guy who'd been squirrel hunting came stumbling into town looking like he'd lost a fight with a lumbermill bandsaw. Somebody took him to the doctor, and after he was stitched up and bandaged the "What'n hell happened to you?" question was asked.

He'd been sitting under a tree when he heard leaves being shuffled to his rear. Carefully turned his head to see, and there was a bobcat cub playing in the leaves, and getting closer. "I've always wanted a bobcat to raise as a pet," thinks he, and when it got close enough he grabbed it.

It grabbed back. And wouldn't stop grabbing.

His final words on the subject were "Somebody tells you he can lick his weight in wildcats, you call him a damn liar, I couldn't even whoop a little one."


Sigivald said...

Plainly this person had no experience with the domestic cat.

You don't even want to tussle with one of those if it's feeling feisty, and a baby bobcat's somewhat... larger.

And doesn't think of you as "the source of delicious food". Though it might think of you as made of delicious food.

Firehand said...

Oh, he probably had experience with house and barn cats; he just had that moment of dumbass and thought "Kitten!" just before he reached.

Dad once knew a farm couple who'd found a bobcat kitten, nursed it along and kept it, claws and all; it played with the dog, caught mice, purred like a power saw when petted and absolutely NOTHING came into the yard without his permission.

Keith said...

Years ago, I picked up 2 injured baby stoats off the road. one died after about a week, I had the other running around the house for a year.

It was only about 7" long but could climb bare flesh, and if it was upset, could draw blood in half a dozen places and run off before you could even start to react.

In a good mood, it was like a kitten playing at bouncing around in a plastic bag and rolling over to get its tummy tickled.

I must get the photos of it scanned - my mother binned the negatives when I wasn't looking - to tidy up- What is it with women?

Anonymous said...

In my post-teen yoot before I got married and the missus civilised me, I lived to hunt varmints, you know, coyotes, bobcats, rockchucks, those things.

I was in E. Wash. one weekend about two hours after dark sitting in a comfy rockpile making noises like a hurt rabbit when I was put upon by at least forty brigands, cut, beaten and kicked mercilessly.

After I'd crawled, beaten and bloody back to my pickup then drove myself into Yakima to an ER, the Sawbones' there informed me that it appeared I'd had an encounter with a half grown bobcat, and would be well advised to find another hobby. It was more fun to find a hunting buddy. We sat back to back when calling predators after that. More success with less bleeding and healing.

Gerry N.