Bison Bits

As we walked down the hill to the lake, still in a bit of an early morning fog, Will said, “There they are again.”

This morning, exactly a week from the time we first saw them standing by the lake, there they were again: the bison. There were about ten of them including three babies. Last week there were just two babies. Bison birth, yikes. Talk about labor. For animals so large, I found it surprisingly difficult to get a definite head count. There were differences in size, of course, but the bison all wore the same outfit: overall dark to black with white knee socks. When they’re all huddled up, or milling about as they were this morning, it’s not that easy to see where one ends and another begins. The babies, cute as most infant mammals are, were at least three times the size of me.

Walking by the early morning lake, mist drifting in the quiet, sun-filtered light streaming down on my face, I always feel somehow connected to it all. Dawn, and the hour just following it, is a special time of day. I think differently then. When we first saw the bison a week ago, I was a little frightened, yes, but mostly just awed. They are so immense, their horns make me think of primeval beasts, and yet they seem essentially gentle and quite graceful.

Of course, we’ve all heard stories around here. These creatures do harm others from time to time. A few weeks ago a friend’s dog was gored through the chest and back by one of these “gentle giants”, a man was speared in the bottom not long before that. Both thankfully lived to tell the tale, but still, you have to be wary, take your time, tread lightly. A friend of ours recommends telepathically letting the bison know you mean them no harm. So I did this as we stood there watching the herd. In my head I told them that we’re nice beings, and tried not to let my thoughts wander to the cow Iddli so rudely and noisily chased out of our yard the other day.

Last week we watched amazed as the bison organized themselves into a powwow, a huddle-up of immense proportions, and had a bit of a chat about where to head next. Tails whipping to and fro, the bison decided to walk single file up the path by the park and away from the lake. We all just walked peacefully on.

This week though, the bison were not sure what course to take. They discussed heading along the lake’s boardwalk, but decided against it when a small motorcycle approached. The parking lot wasn’t a promising option, and anyway the two men standing in it had begun to get feisty. To my chagrin these guys thought it’d be a great idea to clap at the bison, to grunt at them and walk toward them, trying to herd them like dairy cows. “You idiots,” I said under my breath, “what the hell are you doing?” Everyone knows not to mess with bison. And now that they had babies? For goodness’ sake, they were more dangerous than ever.

Images flashed through my mind—death, destruction, blood, screaming, the splash of a gored body hitting the otherwise peaceful lake. Where would I run to as the bison, filled with bloodlust, came for me? I would ditch the dog, I decided. We’d had a good run, but in a time like this it’s every man for himself. If I didn’t love my dog so much, the cartoonish flash of the enormous bison hitting the fluffball of a Pomeranian would have been almost humorous. Will could probably fend for himself, I figured. What’s a little bison herd to a man who’s been charged by an angry elephant and survived the glacier at the source of the Ganges collapsing on him?

Just as my stomach became as tangled as a game of Snakes ‘n Ladders as I imagined my family being picked off one by one, the bison began to move. Unlike in my panicked fantasies they were not charging toward anything at all. No, just like last week the herd was lumbering off toward the path near the park, heading back into the shola. I sighed and relaxed. Most of me was glad the moronic men who had been clapping and grunting were alright, but I’ve got to be honest here. If I had the horns, they might not have made it.