Liam's Bison

We knew there were bison running wild at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. We'd seen their tracks and droppings all around the main visitor center. But so far, all we'd seen were some distant black specks, which we needed optics to make out.
I love a kid with binoculars.


Liam was stoked! Even distant dotty bison are better than none.


Our sweet Shoomie was about to get the surprise of his little life when we rounded a bend in the road at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. One minute, nothing, then BOOM! OMG!
A massive, and I mean HUUUUGE, bull bison was rubbing his woolly neck on a guardrail only a couple of feet from the car. We all inadvertantly recoiled inside the car, and Bill paused only long enough for me to roll down the window and fire off a couple of shots with the 18-35mm lens. The real short lens. I mean, you don't want to tick off an animal weighing over a ton and armed with wicked hooks and hooves, not to mention a head like a battering ram. Liam was hyperventilating. We all were.

We pulled a respectful distance away, only to see a truck roll right up, and its occupants disembark, perhaps intending to compete for the 2009 Darwin Awards.

Only two things are infinite -- the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not so sure about the Universe. --Albert Einstein

Go, Daddy, go. Get that picture.

Soon, the bison ambled off, evidently choosing not to reduce Richard Avedon to a spot of grease on the road.
photo by Bill Thompson III


Reverently, we examined the guardrail, shiny from years of such itchrubbing.

Liam put his hand in the bull's immense round hoofprints

which trailed off through the bentonite gumbo.

He was a gift, that's all, a gift to our boy and to us.


These wild things enrich our lives just by their existence. But experiencing the sight, smell, sound and feel of them can change a life, and help a child know how to be grateful.

Here's to wild places and hearts that know them.

Here end the Montana and North Dakota posts.
Canoe down Montana's Missouri River,
go see bison and wild horses at Theodore Roosevelt National Park, or
come see the prairie potholes at Carrington, ND's Potholes and Prairies Festival in early June 2010.

Or do it all in one unutterably swell foop. We did!

Go. Just go. Show your kids a real live grunty bison.

The Mature Boston Terrier

Walking to the bus stop is a ritual for us, when the weather is nice enough to permit it. Liam always wants to walk, no matter what. He likes the extra time, the smell of wet leaves, the chance to run around and around.This year, the district clamped down on a lot of stuff that was going on on the school buses. And one of the new rules was: No animals on the bus. This broke a four-year tradition of letting Chet Baker on the bus to greet his beloved chirrun each morning. There is another new rule: No pencils on the bus. Which means the kids don't have a chance to do their homework on the ride. You might poke your eye out!!

Please.

When he was a pup (which, in Bostons, lasts somewhere into Year Three), Chet needed a leash. Period. Without it, he'd get up on the seat, sit down and say, "Take me to the school. There are more chirrun there who need their faces washed."

Here comes the bes. I love it when the bes comes.

I still kept him on a leash in Year Four, but I stopped holding it. In fact, when he was done greeting all the kids, he'd pick up one end of it and take himself off the bus, romping back down the lane to home. Watching him decide that the session was over, pick the leash up in his teeth, turn his back on the outstretched hands of the children, and get off the bus always amused bus driver Sue so much. "He's done!" she'd say, and we'd both laugh.


By Year Five, we could dispense with both the leash and the collar, and Chet was completely cool. And then came The Rule Change, and poor Chet was no longer allowed to greet the chirrun. Back came the leash, for a short time, until he understood that these humans, in all their capricious wisdom, suddenly decided that his beloved ritual was not to be. I think he understands that it wasn't my choice. I think he knows the meaning of "I'm sorry, Chetty."

I am proud to say that little Chet Baker, at five, is now self-policing where the bus is concerned. He just needs to be reminded with a quiet "Stay."



Any of you who own Boston terriers will understand my pride in this fact. Boston terriers have SO much wiggly love to give that it is very, very hard for them to resist rushing up to every human they see and giving them a thorough tongue-lashing.


And Chet especially loves children. It's hard for him to let Liam get on that bus alone.

(Please note the adorable strip of white on the back of his head). God done dipped his paintbrush one last time.


The ultimate test: one of his little friends lowers the window and hollers, "Here Chet!! Come here, Chet!!"

To my great amusement, Chet responded not by rushing to the bus, but by roo-roo-rooing at her until it pulled away.

I cannot come to the bes, little girl! They will not let me! So do not tempt me! You are being very bad, very very bad! Roo roo roo roo!

Good dog, Chet. All you with exuberant young Boston terriers, take heart. It gets easier, much easier.

Chet Baker is Five!

Today, December 12, Chet Baker turns five. I can hardly believe the Eternal Puppy is five years old! But I have a hard time believing Phoebe is 13 and Liam is 10, too. As I write, Liam and I are deciding what Baker's birthday meal should be, and The Bacon is happily chewing an ear of Nylabone corn in a pile of Polarfleece blankets. The cake needs to be something other than chocolate. Rest assured that he will be getting even more hugs and kisses than usual, and a variety of wrapped presents to rip open. Susan, yours arrived just in time!

Not long ago, we took a ramble with Chet's friend Cooper, a cattle dog/blue heeler cross.

Cooper is a very, very nice dog. He defers to Chet, having figured out immediately that that was the only way they were going to get along.

I have to play nicely with Chet Baker? He's not very polite, you know. Well, maybe you don't know. But trust me on that. It's a dog thing. You might not understand.

I do understand, sweet Cooper, and I hear you loud and clear. And you are a good good boy for putting up with him.

Boston terriers think Keepaway is the best game ever, and that's because they're fast, agile, and extremely snotty animals. At first, Chet got the stick from Cooper every time, but now Coop has learned to hold it in reach, then whip his head to the side at just the moment Chet's jaws are about to clop on it. A snapshot of that exact moment:

When they tie onto a big stick, GAME is ON.
Chet starts out at the lower end.

He works his way closer and closer to Cooper.


And the snarling starts.

You can see Cooper's expression change the closer Chet gets. Gaah, Baker is such a hobgoblin.


I wish I had a soundtrack. It is quite impressive, with continuous raspy snarling--a hailstorm of snarls--from Chet Baker, and the occasional low rumble from Cooper.

But Cooper doesn't give in.

Though he takes a terrible tongue-lashing from Chet.

GIVE ME THE STICK. GIVE ME THE STICK. GIVE ME THE STICK, COOPER YOU PITIFUL GIRLYDOG!! GIVE ME THE STICK OR I WILL LITERALLY KICK YOUR SPECKLY BLUE A--!

Note position of Tennessee turd-tail. Danger! Danger! But Cooper's tail is up, too. He ain't givin' in. Gee, Chet, can you stand any taller? You need Tom Cruise's platform shoes, buddy.

Mighty tugs, and lots more snarling. The bulldog in Chet comes roaring out.

Cooper is the ideal companion for such a Napoleonic beastie.

Any friend of Chet's has to be able to say, "You win!"


Happy birthday Chet Baker! Known as an inveterate bully among his few dog friends. The American Gentleman, around people. But we have abundant forgiveness for your transgressions, few as they are. In fact, there are only three: Canine Napoleon complex, a tendency toward suddenly boinging up four feet into the air and French-kissing unsuspecting guests, and your well-documented gaseous emanations. Forget 'em all. Chet Baker you are all spirit, all heart, and one of the bright lights of my life. Happy five, sugardog lovepuppeh!!

Saving the Nokota Horse

Continuing from my previous post, "The Nokota Horse:"

1979 was a big year for the mustangs of North Dakota. A rancher and horse breeder named Leo Kuntz bought a couple of them from neighbors, admiring their brains, endurance, strong bones, and willing nature. He originally intended to breed them with other breeds, to introduce the mustang qualities to his Thoroughbreds and quarter horses. Meanwhile, the park management decides to "improve" its horses by selectively removing typical mustangs, and replacing the stallions with a grab-bag of breeds, including part Shire, Arab, and quarter horse bloodlines. They have to remove the wild stallions, because they'd beat the crap out of the domestic horses being introduced. So they take the Nokotas, round them up, and sell them.

From the Nokota Horse Conservancy's web site:

Nokota Horses are characterized by a square-set, angular frame, tapering musculature, V-shaped front end, angular shoulders with prominent withers, distinctly sloped croup, low tail set, strong bone, legs, and hooves, and "Spanish colonial" pigmentation. Their ears are often slightly hooked at the tips, and many have feathered fetlocks. Nokotas tend to mature slowly, and some exhibit ambling gaits.

There was a huge roundup in 1986, and Leo Kuntz saw his chance. He and his brother Frank purchased 54 mustangs being culled from the park.

Another roundup in 1991 gave the Kuntz's seven more important foundation horses. But the park management wasn't through culling. Roundups continued in 1994 and 1997. At this point, the Kuntz's are holding and preserving the pure Nokota bloodlines that the park management is determined to wipe out. In 2000, their newborn Nokota Horse Conservancy was granted non-profit status by the IRS. (Nokota, short for North Dakota Horse). And the park holds yet another roundup, and removes the last Traditional Nokota horse from the wild. NHC supporters purchase it and four more.

There was another roundup in 2003. Once again, typey Nokotas were the target. Even as I write this, I shake my head. What's the point here? To rub out that which is unique, that which is perfectly adapted to the conditions and habitat of this unforgiving place? To deny the Nokota's history and heritage, and replace it with something prettier? If you're going to have a "demonstration herd" of wild horses on public land, why not demonstrate what the Lakota ponies looked like, instead of letting a bunch of domestic breeds mingle there?

I am deeply thankful for the Kuntz's, and the Nokota Horse Conservancy, for recognizing the breed, for preserving irreplaceable bloodlines dating back to the Lakota (Sioux) ponies. Perhaps someday the park management will recognize that it eliminated its finest and best adapted animals in a quest for improvement.

I know there are purists (including one staunch Floridian who struggled free of the coils of an Everglades Burmese python long enough to raise the flag in a comment on my last post) who don't believe any horse belongs in the wild. And that can be argued, too. It raises many, many questions. Interestingly enough, the genus Equus originated in North America about 4 million years ago, and spread to Eurasia via the Bering land bridge. So let's think about that. Mitochondrial DNA analysis has revealed that Equus caballus, the modern horse, originated about 1.7 million years ago, right here in North America. Europeans domesticated horses by crossing wild strains of an animal that actually originated right here. Our native horses died out as late as 11,000 years ago, in some of the mass extinctions that took many of our unique North American megafauna. The last surviving North American horse, the Yukon horse, was called E. lambii. Mitochondria DNA analysis has shown the the Yukon horse was genetically equivalent to E. caballus, the modern horse.

Had they not migrated to Asia and Europe, the species would have died out altogether. Along comes Coronado. In 1519, Equus caballus was introduced to Mexico, where it became wildly popular, and was traded and spread throughout North America. Plains Indians took horsemanship to new places, selecting strains and improving the breed as they saw fit. The Lakota horses were small, wiry, strong, willing, and incredibly smart. Lots of them got loose. And once again, Equus caballus was running on the plains of North America, where it evolved in the first place. You can read more here.

So. Is the horse a feral exotic, or is it a native species, reintroduced 500 years ago? How far back do we need to go to say whether a species is exotic or feral? Do horses belong on the North American plains, if they evolved here? There are people who want to introduce rhinoceros to North America, on the basis that they once lived here, too; calling that a reintroduction. And rhinos do spectacularly well in Texas, breeding, feeding, surviving on game farms. The more you think about it all, the more you realize there may be no correct answer to whether wild horses are noxious exotics, or natives come home. Shades of gray, roan, bay and black.


So there are horses running wild on these mounds and mountains of bentonite clay, and they're not competing with anyone's economic interests in this fenced enclosure. They look great here; they seem to fit. Tourists like me dig 'em. But the Nokotas fit a lot better, thanks to years of intense natural selection in a harsh environment, than the doubtless bewildered domestic quarter horses, draft horses, and paints being released by park management in an effort to "improve" the herd.

I've adapted the Nokota horse story from the excellent web site of the Nokota Horse Conservancy
which has a wealth of information and glorious photo galleries by Christopher Wilson (don't miss them!) of typical Nokota ponies and the people who love them. From the web site:

Nokota owner Margaret Odgers coined the term "the equine all-terrain vehicle" to describe the athleticism, durability, and stamina that are Nokota characteristics. Nokotas are sound, low maintenance horses with extremely solid legs and strong hooves. They all seem to have an uncommon jumping ability and are very handy and agile. These qualities have made them popular among fox hunters. Mentally, Nokotas are "problem solvers," who actively think their way through things, sometimes quite independently. At the same time, they tend to develop unusually strong, reciprocal bonds with those they trust.

We watched this stallion, with a large, still-open neck wound, have a squealing disagreement with a red roan stallion over a little bunch of mares and foals. I shot hundreds of photos of the argument, the rearing and prancing, the vanquishing of the rival, all of which were lost in the Great Computer Meltdown of July 2009. All of which were are deeply mourned. I never even got to see them on the screen before the computer crashed and ate them. The photos here are by Bill of the Birds. And I thank him for them.

The red roan beats a retreat.

A young foal and his placid mama.

Whether these horses were Nokotas or not, they were lovely, and I suppose that's all the park management is shooting for: something pretty for we tourists to exclaim over. It's a great shame. I trust that, through the efforts of the dedicated breeders in the Nokota Horse Conservancy, this wonderful breed will be appreciated and perpetuated into the future. It's regrettable that the park management doesn't get the big picture; doesn't value the home-grown North Dakota horses enough to appreciate that it's rubbing out its own history and heritage.

The horses at Theodore Roosevelt are busy multiplying, as Equus caballus does so very well. No matter how docile, a horse released remembers how to run wild.


It's good to know that, thanks to people of vision and foresight, the Nokota will not be lost forever. I hope I've gotten their story right, and thank them for all they've done. And thanks to Stacy Adolf-Whipp, USFWS biologist, for telling me about Nokota Horses in the first place. Without her input I'd just have been exclaiming at all the pretty horses, instead of thinking hard about priceless Lakota bloodlines, nearly exterminated and now conserved. I think if I ever got a horse, I'd want a Nokota.

The Nokota Horse

photo by JZ. All other photos here, save the last one, are by Bill Thompson III.

Perhaps you've seen mustangs running across a ridge against the sky somewhere out West. Maybe you've felt that thrill to the spine at finally viewing this icon of the old West. I can't imagine a better place to experience it than Theodore Roosevelt National Monument in Medora, North Dakota.

Like prairie dogs, wild horses are persecuted, unwanted almost wherever they occur. This makes them tough, wary, and hard to get close to. But they're protected here, sort of. Why the "sort of?"

Well, it's an interesting story. And I'll preface this by saying that these photographs, which Bill of the Birds and I took in North Dakota, are of horses living wild, but not necessarily of wild bloodlines. Here's why:

The wild horses that originally populated western North Dakota were direct descendants of Lakota ponies, which of course derived from Spanish Colonial stock. They were small, slightly scrubby, but strong, intelligent, and willing. They were thought not to be much good, despite the fact that they had survived all on their own in this cruel habitat, made it through Great Plains winters by pawing for dry grass and whatever else they could find. Their hooves were hard as flint and so were their spirits.

In the Great Depression, wild horses were systematically hunted down and exterminated, to eliminate competition for coveted rangeland. Theodore Roosevelt National Park was established in the late '40's, and fenced in. Whoops, some wild horses were inside the fence, having fled to the badlands where no one could find them. By the 1960's, wild horses had been exterminated in North Dakota--except for the ones in the park.

But even those were hunted down. The population dropped as low as 20 individuals within the park by 1979. Public protest caused the park to declare it would maintain a small "demonstration herd" to show what Teddy Roosevelt described in his writing about ranching the Little Missouri area around 1885:

In a great many--indeed, in most--localities there are wild horses to be found, which, although invariably of domestic descent, being either themselves runaways from some Indian or ranch outfit, or else claiming such as their sires and dams, are yet quite as wild as the antelope on whose range they have intruded.

Next: Saving the Nokota Horse

Watching for Wildlife

I'm not used to seeing landforms like this. A speeding car-window shot of the Theodore Roosevelt South Unit near Medora, North Dakota.
But much of the fun of travel is readjusting one's view of the land, accepting new life forms and landforms as part of the view. I never tire of it. Well, I do get tired of soybeans and corn, but I don't get tired of what nature put there. Don't miss the purple flowers in the vale. Unfortunately, a binocular view made them look suspiciously like dame's rocket, a Eurasian mustard often included in "wildflower" seed mixes. Ah well. They were lovely. I leave open the possibility that they're some gorgeous native that looks like dame's rocket, and hope to be corrected. Such a pool of shadow violet they made, incredible.

Wild prairie flax, Linum lewisi. Named for Meriwether? I'd imagine.

Perched up on a rock, we scanned for wildlife. Bill has the tripod splayed out to Hotdog Brother height.

The rock was inhabited by lovely bunches.


We found the first-ever elk Phoebe, Liam and I had laid eyes on (Bill had seen them before, but he was so excited to show them to us!) What a fine, fine sight, even if distant. We watched them for over an hour as they grazed and milled about. See the little calf?

A male lazuli bunting knocked our eyes out. His song, reminiscent of our indigo bunting. Could we switch, just for a summer? I'd like to put this one on the Indigo Hill species list. For me, the color scheme is a play on that of the eastern bluebird's. I love lazuli buntings, and I get all excited and jump around a lot, flapping my hands, when I see them.

But there was still more. There are wild horses in the park!

Of course, they need a post or two of their very own.

Until tomorrow,Li'l JZ and Big BT3, reporting from North Dakota, in a sundrenched June timewarp. Just the thing for dreary December, especially now that the sky's gone gray, and the nights are so cold.