The Melting Dog

Quite the mixed bag lately, from the fun of scamming Scammy straight to bobcat heartbreak. Whiplash: a hallmark of my life and, it seems, this blog. Oh, that was good fun, scamming Scammy. A Keystone Cop surround with blaring sirens and kleig lights would have been even nicer, but at least I wasted Scammy’s time. Everything about it was fun except that little call to the home phone. Ergh. As usual, I’m smart, but not smart enough.

Thank you for your kind and empathetic responses to the last bobcat post. So many kind thoughts, so many dear people all aching right along with me. Maybe Murr Brewster (unsurprisingly) said it best: “Takes a big heart to be a wildlife rehabilitator. And we all know what happens to big hearts.”

Heartbreak aside, I am convinced that here in Ohio at least we are in the midst of a bobcat renaissance such as has never been seen. I remember when I worked for The Nature Conservancy in Connecticut climbing a rock ledge to look at a bobcat den area. It was like being allowed to open the case and handle a Faberge egg. And now here I am in Ohio, 22 years later, and I see bobcat sign often enough that I’ve added it to the Frequently Encountered list in my mind’s encyclopedia. I’m starting to lose track of the animals I’ve seen. Let’s see…the last one I saw was December 15, 2014, a small one feeding at a deer carcass, making seven for Ohio, if you count the trailcam female in the driveway in July 2014 as “seen.” I’ve even seen a black one, a stump-tailed summer wonder racing across my very own road in front of my bike (#6, July 2014, just before Corey got the trailcam shot in our driveway).

 Can a hunting season be far behind? Of course not. We’ll deal with that when it comes up. I may sound cynical, but I’m sure that somewhere in the halls of ODNR, the proposal’s already being cooked. Take it off the state threatened list, and it’s time to hunt it. The idea of a person going out to hunt bobcat actually makes me laugh. You’re going to have to be vewwy, vewwy smart, vewwy, vewwy quiet, and vewwy, vewwy wucky. Then you can hope you get a vewwy bwief gwimpse. Not so sure about getting a shot. Good wuck with that, Mr. Fudd.

Enough of that. I would now like to show you The Melting Dog. This is Chet Baker’s newest “trick.” It took Phoebe years to teach him this difficult maneuver. Gravity is its main component. Turn your sound up, so you don’t miss the oink of contentment as he lands gently on the tarmac of love.

Julie Zickefoose is a painter and writer who lives on a nature sanctuary in Appalachian Ohio. She is the author of Letters from Eden and The Bluebird Effect: Uncommon Bonds With Common Birds, due in spring 2012. http://juliezickefoose.blogspot.com