The other day I was working at my card table-desk up here in the beautiful San Juan Mountains when a peeping tom glanced in the window at me.
My desk is situated in the front corner of the cabin, between two windows. The window to my left offers a reliably breathtaking mountain view. If I ever wonder, “What the hell am I doing up here in the middle of nowhere?” I just turn my head to the left and go, “Oh yeah. That’s why.”
The window to my right looks out onto a grassy area shaded by a big spruce tree. Anyway, I was typing away when I looked up and saw a big round eye and a red wattle. It was a big male turkey, running the point for several hens. He actually was peering into my window, because as soon as I got up to fetch my camera, Tom and the ladies turned around and quickly waddled back the way they came.
These are my neighbors. There are no other humans in the immediate vicinity (just a lot of empty summer cabins), so my only consistent company are critters. After a month or so of watching through the windows, I’ve started recognizing some of them. Like scar-deer.
Scar-deer likes to graze around the cabin, and I’ve startled her (and vice versa) several times while I was out walking around. I know it’s the same deer because she has these long parallel scars down her side. It looks like a mountain lion took a swipe at her. It’s probably from something more mundane like barbed wire, but it sets her apart from the other deer – she’s got that mysterious deer-with-a-past thing going.
Another regular is the little chipmunk that sits on the wood pile and does this high-pitched chattering that seems to go on forever and bores into my temples like rusty screws until I grab a piece of kindling and fling it at him. He scampers to another log and starts up again until I chunk something else at his tiny head. It’s a little game we play. I haven’t named him, because he’s a dead chipmunk once my aim improves.
Many of my neighbors here are nocturnal, and bumping into them in the dark is always its own little adventure. My first week in the cabin, I went outside to take a leak, flashlight in hand, when the beam found a pair of huge, glowing, blood-red eyes just ahead of me. I was sure it was a rabid coyote or a mountain lion about to pounce.
Oh, a bunny. Eat hot death, bunny, you literally scared the piss out of me.
And I can’t discuss the wild kingdom up here without giving a nod to the loudest neighbors on the block: the cows. There’s a herd of them down the hill from me in a big fenced-in meadow. I guess I haven’t spent much time listening to cows, but they make some primal, disturbing sounds, much like the huge plant-eating dinosaurs in the Jurassic Park movies. Someone apparently told them what happens to cows when the cushy free-range gig ends.
Every now and then a few cows end up on the wrong side of the fence and hang out next to the dirt road like bovine hitchhikers. Which is no big deal when I’m in the car, I just slow down and wait for them to clear the way (although a few of them have eyed the Kia rather aggressively, probably thinking “I can take that thing.”)
But the other night I was taking my evening stroll and walked right into a bunch of them. I was checking out the mountains, not really paying attention to the road, then …
Oh. Hi guys, what’s up? They were watching me, motionless, silent. A bunch of cows, staring me down. Creepy.
I thought about backing away and returning to the cabin, since I was outnumbered ten-to-one and they were all bigger than me. Then I remembered the food chain and got my swagger back. I kept walking like the cows weren’t there. Then a couple of them started walking toward me, very slowly.
I kept walking, avoiding eye contact, but I could hear them behind me: clop, clop, clop. Then I whirled around to face them, and … they stopped. It was exactly like the climactic standoff in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. I was glancing from one cow to the other, wondering which one of us was Clint Eastwood in this scenario, when one of them dropped a big, wet cow patty right in the middle of the road.
That broke the tension. We all had a good laugh and I continued my walk.
But I’ve learned, you gotta watch your step in this neighborhood.