Kizmo
New member
A couple of weeks ago, my farmer/rancher told me about something killing his daughter's barn cats in his yard, and asked that I do something about it. Me and Mz. Kiz headed out there that evening and set up right at the gate between his backyard and a big field that is half corn and half peanuts. I cranked up eastern cottontail on the Krakatoa and immediately got a reply from behind us, in the woods at the edge of his yard. I hit female challenge howl and we turned around. A yote came out of the woods, but we didn't have shot due to the house and barn. It came through his yard and crossed the fence into the field. Mz. Kiz couldn't get on it, so I, with GREAT angst
, was forced to take the shot at about 150 yards. It was a mangy looking female. We played pup in distress #3 for about 5 minutes and I went out to drag her in.
While I was out, I notice Mz. Kiz bobbing the light around wildly. When I got back, she said that another yote had come out of the wall of corn about 100 yards behind us, but she wouldn't shoot for fear of causing me to "soil myself". I reminded her that we had toilet paper in the truck, and admonished her to never display such an act of mercy again in my presence.
Well, the cat killing didn't stop, so my buddy and I decided to hit the place again last night. This guy is a resident manager of one of the hunting plantations we have down here, so I guess technically he is a professional hunter. In any event, he has a job most of us only dream about, and he has a deer head collection that would make you drool. We get there right at dark and set up at the same place. Unfortunately, the center pivot irrigation was running loudly. There were also thunderstorms in the area, and we were looking at distant (and not so distant) lightning all around as I put out the Krakatoa. All was not lost, however. The coyote gods, evidently pitying the two fools in their last few moments before their impending electrocution, bestowed a final gift upon us: in that moment, an ambulance came screaming by, prompting multiple close howls from the corn and from the other end of the field. We slobbered like two condemned men enjoying our last steak dinner.
As soon as I got back to the truck and fired up the Olight, I spotted eyes at the edge of that wall of corn. My buddy peered for a moment through his 3 foot long rifle scope (through which you can literally see the moons of Saturn), and informed me that they belong to, and I quote, "THE mac daddy possum of all time". Disappointed, I cranked up eastern cottontail in a vain attempt to be overheard in all the thunder and the noise from the irrigation system. The "possum" ignored it. As the call ran, I picked up a second set of eyes near the first, which he also determined to be an uninterested possum. A couple of minutes later we picked up eyes at the top of the hill towards the other end of the field ("another possum"), and one more set of eyes waaaay to the north. You guessed it, "possum".
We were now about 8 minutes into the session, still belting out eastern cottontail, when I remarked, "Sure are a [beeep] of a lot of possums here. I haven't hardly seen a possum this year". We were just launching into a discussion of the biology of the population dynamics of the Virginia opossum (Didelphis virginiana), when I hit a female howl. Immediately, the two "possums" at the edge of the corn started bobbing up and down. I remarked that I had never seen possums bob up and down like that, and questioned the veracity of his identification of said mammal. Like an impatient college professor in the Q&A session on the first day of freshman biology class, he sighed and leaned forward to observe them again through his scope (which I believe is something like a 6x-20somethingx).
With the certainty enjoyed only by fools in their moment of greatest disaster, he rendered his final pronouncement on the subject, no further debate to be tolerated.
They were chihuahas. So let it be written, so let it be done.
By now, I had reason to doubt not only his ability to identify wildlife, but also his sanity. As I informed him that, chihuahuas or not, they were to be killed, I decided to see for myself and end this business right then and there. Sure enough, two yote pups were heading our way around a low brushy spot in the field in front of us. I presumed they were pups of the female I had shot a couple of weeks earlier, and they were looking for their long lost mother. My gun tipped off the edge of the truck bed with a loud thunk, but they didn't care, they were coming to see Mama come h-e-double-L or high water, and, from the looks of the sky, both of those appeared to be bearing down on us rapidly.
My buddy, who, for obvious reasons shall remain nameless but his three-letter first name starts with a "K" and ends with "n" (& has an "e" in there somewhere), shot the lead "chihuahua" and I shot the second one. Both went a short distance and flopped down into the peanuts and I marked their location. As we walked out to retrieve them, the "possum" we had spied on the hill in front of us came trotting up to see what all the ruckus was about. I missed it twice, but my buddy nailed it with his single shot .204. Like I so often do at a dove shoot, I had taken my eyes off where the first two went down, so I lost my marks. Not wanting to make the same mistake again, I kept my eye on #3's location and went to retrieve it.
That's when the bottom fell out.
My nice padded seats were in the back of the truck and my Krakatoa was still in the field, and everything was getting soaked. We high tailed it back in the direction of the truck to save my "Krak". As we did, lo and behold, the 4th "possum" we had seen to the north was heading south. I lip squeaked it over a slight rise in the field and stopped it at 80 yards with a growl, whereupon "Dr. K_n, PhD. Wildlife Biologist In Charge of Possums", missed it. The "possum" lit out towards the truck (at one point getting 30 yards from it). I cautioned the professor that we needed that particular piece of equipment to remain bullet free in order to get back home, but he would have none of it. With all the bloodlust of a Democrat in a pile of taxpayer money, he fired anyway and missed. He reloaded, fired and missed. He then repeated that process several more times while the "possum" ran around out there doing the best Neo imitation from The Matrix that I've ever seen. I don't know how many times he shot. I lost count. Unbelievably, the "possum" suddenly dropped into the peanuts from what I believed was either fright or exhaustion or being co-opted by Agent Smith. To his credit though, by hook or crook, the man had just scored himself the first triple I've ever witnessed in the state of Georgia, with a single shot rifle to boot.
We had to sit in the truck for an hour as 1-2" of rain dumped on us and all the tracks and blood were washed away, so we never found the first two in that vast thicket of peanuts, but it was a pretty fun night. We made one more stand, but all was quiet. We picked us a couple of bags of sweet corn, and I got home around 2AM.
Dr. K_n, PhD. Wildlife Biologist In Charge of Possums poses with his prey
I think it's significant that eastern cottontail, usually one of my most productive sound files, didn't do a thing for 8 minutes. I believe these pups were so young, and momma wasn't around to teach them, that they had never heard a cottontail scream, so the sound held no meaning to them. They definitely knew what a female howl was, though. Kind of gives you an idea of how much of coyote behavior is learned vs. instinctive.
For those of you who would rant about killing pups, let me remind you that coyotes are an invasive species in Georgia, where they are responsible for 40% of our fawn mortality. I have been instructed to kill everything on four legs that is not a cow, lest my rancher find someone else to do the job. I plan on keeping my job.
While I was out, I notice Mz. Kiz bobbing the light around wildly. When I got back, she said that another yote had come out of the wall of corn about 100 yards behind us, but she wouldn't shoot for fear of causing me to "soil myself". I reminded her that we had toilet paper in the truck, and admonished her to never display such an act of mercy again in my presence.
Well, the cat killing didn't stop, so my buddy and I decided to hit the place again last night. This guy is a resident manager of one of the hunting plantations we have down here, so I guess technically he is a professional hunter. In any event, he has a job most of us only dream about, and he has a deer head collection that would make you drool. We get there right at dark and set up at the same place. Unfortunately, the center pivot irrigation was running loudly. There were also thunderstorms in the area, and we were looking at distant (and not so distant) lightning all around as I put out the Krakatoa. All was not lost, however. The coyote gods, evidently pitying the two fools in their last few moments before their impending electrocution, bestowed a final gift upon us: in that moment, an ambulance came screaming by, prompting multiple close howls from the corn and from the other end of the field. We slobbered like two condemned men enjoying our last steak dinner.
As soon as I got back to the truck and fired up the Olight, I spotted eyes at the edge of that wall of corn. My buddy peered for a moment through his 3 foot long rifle scope (through which you can literally see the moons of Saturn), and informed me that they belong to, and I quote, "THE mac daddy possum of all time". Disappointed, I cranked up eastern cottontail in a vain attempt to be overheard in all the thunder and the noise from the irrigation system. The "possum" ignored it. As the call ran, I picked up a second set of eyes near the first, which he also determined to be an uninterested possum. A couple of minutes later we picked up eyes at the top of the hill towards the other end of the field ("another possum"), and one more set of eyes waaaay to the north. You guessed it, "possum".
We were now about 8 minutes into the session, still belting out eastern cottontail, when I remarked, "Sure are a [beeep] of a lot of possums here. I haven't hardly seen a possum this year". We were just launching into a discussion of the biology of the population dynamics of the Virginia opossum (Didelphis virginiana), when I hit a female howl. Immediately, the two "possums" at the edge of the corn started bobbing up and down. I remarked that I had never seen possums bob up and down like that, and questioned the veracity of his identification of said mammal. Like an impatient college professor in the Q&A session on the first day of freshman biology class, he sighed and leaned forward to observe them again through his scope (which I believe is something like a 6x-20somethingx).
With the certainty enjoyed only by fools in their moment of greatest disaster, he rendered his final pronouncement on the subject, no further debate to be tolerated.
They were chihuahas. So let it be written, so let it be done.
By now, I had reason to doubt not only his ability to identify wildlife, but also his sanity. As I informed him that, chihuahuas or not, they were to be killed, I decided to see for myself and end this business right then and there. Sure enough, two yote pups were heading our way around a low brushy spot in the field in front of us. I presumed they were pups of the female I had shot a couple of weeks earlier, and they were looking for their long lost mother. My gun tipped off the edge of the truck bed with a loud thunk, but they didn't care, they were coming to see Mama come h-e-double-L or high water, and, from the looks of the sky, both of those appeared to be bearing down on us rapidly.
My buddy, who, for obvious reasons shall remain nameless but his three-letter first name starts with a "K" and ends with "n" (& has an "e" in there somewhere), shot the lead "chihuahua" and I shot the second one. Both went a short distance and flopped down into the peanuts and I marked their location. As we walked out to retrieve them, the "possum" we had spied on the hill in front of us came trotting up to see what all the ruckus was about. I missed it twice, but my buddy nailed it with his single shot .204. Like I so often do at a dove shoot, I had taken my eyes off where the first two went down, so I lost my marks. Not wanting to make the same mistake again, I kept my eye on #3's location and went to retrieve it.
That's when the bottom fell out.
My nice padded seats were in the back of the truck and my Krakatoa was still in the field, and everything was getting soaked. We high tailed it back in the direction of the truck to save my "Krak". As we did, lo and behold, the 4th "possum" we had seen to the north was heading south. I lip squeaked it over a slight rise in the field and stopped it at 80 yards with a growl, whereupon "Dr. K_n, PhD. Wildlife Biologist In Charge of Possums", missed it. The "possum" lit out towards the truck (at one point getting 30 yards from it). I cautioned the professor that we needed that particular piece of equipment to remain bullet free in order to get back home, but he would have none of it. With all the bloodlust of a Democrat in a pile of taxpayer money, he fired anyway and missed. He reloaded, fired and missed. He then repeated that process several more times while the "possum" ran around out there doing the best Neo imitation from The Matrix that I've ever seen. I don't know how many times he shot. I lost count. Unbelievably, the "possum" suddenly dropped into the peanuts from what I believed was either fright or exhaustion or being co-opted by Agent Smith. To his credit though, by hook or crook, the man had just scored himself the first triple I've ever witnessed in the state of Georgia, with a single shot rifle to boot.
We had to sit in the truck for an hour as 1-2" of rain dumped on us and all the tracks and blood were washed away, so we never found the first two in that vast thicket of peanuts, but it was a pretty fun night. We made one more stand, but all was quiet. We picked us a couple of bags of sweet corn, and I got home around 2AM.
Dr. K_n, PhD. Wildlife Biologist In Charge of Possums poses with his prey
I think it's significant that eastern cottontail, usually one of my most productive sound files, didn't do a thing for 8 minutes. I believe these pups were so young, and momma wasn't around to teach them, that they had never heard a cottontail scream, so the sound held no meaning to them. They definitely knew what a female howl was, though. Kind of gives you an idea of how much of coyote behavior is learned vs. instinctive.
For those of you who would rant about killing pups, let me remind you that coyotes are an invasive species in Georgia, where they are responsible for 40% of our fawn mortality. I have been instructed to kill everything on four legs that is not a cow, lest my rancher find someone else to do the job. I plan on keeping my job.
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