It was cold. Very cold. It was predicted to be 20 degrees below zero. Here that usually means 30 below. Pimpernel, that excellent coyote, is pretty tough but this year she started shedding fur on the back half of her body just as winter started in. Very poor timing! It started at her tail, then moved to her hindquarters and across her back. Perhaps it was related to the genetics thatblocked her esophagus when she was a baby. That was a timing thing too.
In any case, although she has her own private box on an elevated platform facing the sun, 30 below made us worry so we decided to bring her in until the cold snap eased. But the logistics were complex. We only have three usable heated spaces for the winter – the 14’ x 20’ log cabin that serves as our office with work stations for four people plus storage and a squirrel; our 18’ x 30’ living cabin, and the animal kitchen which is full except for a narrow passageway through to the bears and wolves. We couldn’t put her in the animal kitchen because that was taken by Banty the rooster, still recuperating from his stroke. Coyotes and chickens don’t mix. Well, actually Pimpernel probably wouldn’t agree but Banty would not have had a stress-free recuperation with a coyote banging about in her cage trying to get at him. We couldn’t bring her into our living cabin because besides two dogs, Cucumber the House Wolf considers that her personal palace. Cucumber isn’t into sharing with dogs or coyotes or anything else and we tend to indulge her after her two near-death experiences. So we pushed things around in the office; locked Tuttle the squirrel in the bathroom and brought her in. We didn’t think about the plants, soon to be in shock.
It is not easy or exactly peaceful to have a vibrant lively ball of wild energy in a place of work. We had her in a cage big enough for a moose but that didn’t matter – she wanted to explore all those interesting sights and smells and demanded to be let out out out out out and she wasn’t going to rest until we let her out out out out out. She was having none of this cage stuff. She didn’t want to hear how lucky she was compared to the other coyotes who had to stay out in the cold (though plumply well padded); she wanted what she wanted and she wanted it NOW with full coyote energy. Knowing better, we still gave in before the force of her demands and let her out for an office exploration, hoping that once she had a chance to explore she would settle down. The cage was roomy and lined with fresh hay, there were coyote toys and she would have been among human company which she really enjoys.
In a flash she was out, racing about the floor sniffing and pulling at anything that could be pulled, snuffling and scratching at the base of the bathroom door where Tuttle was housed; then the next level- paws on desk rifling through papers and folders; then the next tier, up on the desk sending papers flying. Then she noticed the poor plants. By the time we got there (two seconds) the kalanchoe was on it side minus several leaves, stems and flowers with tooth marks on the rest of the leaves, and being pulled out of its pot, soil spraying in all directions. Next would have been the fourth tier- the tops of bookshelves. It was a coyote orgy of whirling dervish energy and possession (everything was MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE) so there was no way to take it from her without a confrontation. We foolishly hadn’t laid in a supply of special treats. Jean quickly went to get some and we tried to prevent more damage until he returned. Fortunately the same “I want what I want and I want it now” works with treats, and catching her attention by waving them in front of her racing nose, Jean threw them to the back of the cage and sanity was restored. We started the clean up and repotting and apologized to the plant, but she still wanted out out out out out. So we came to a compromise – she would go out during the warmer daytime office hours, and each evening she would come in again. This meant a lot of transportation issues solved with a lot of treats but it was worth the peace. She was generally pleased all around as she won either way.
PS – if you look at the words in capitals; MINE and NOW, you get a good glimpse of part of coyote character. At least Pimpernel’s. However, just to set the record straight, she is also unbelievably sweet and affectionate, and strikes many blows for coyote awareness and appreciation by humans.
A beautiful poem narrated by the peerless Norman Bailey, about listening to things that cannot be heard through our ears but through our hearts. The animals, without thinking they are always listening and we are linked by the great listening to the larger knowledge circling this earth.
In Banty the Rooster’s story of healing I shared my perspective that all life is precious and to be respected, including chickens. Livingness itself is a total wonder, something beyond our powers to understand, much less create. Many people think of chickens as a lower form of life not worth serious consideration, let alone fish. But the mystery of life and death is as true in a fish as in any other living creature.
We have a well-established tank in the office cabin filled with colorful tropical fish who have become a peaceful adapted community. One of the denizens is a kuhlie loach. With its long slender agile body and gentle behavior it is a delight. Entering the office we look forward to seeing its brightly colored black and yellow stripes as it wiggles along the bottom feeling for food with its tiny sensitive whiskers. The other day I looked at the fish tank and saw him very uncharacteristically shooting up to the surface. I wondered briefly but was distracted by a very full office of people. In the evening, when I had time to sort impressions from the day, I remembered, and also realized that the recirculating pump in the tank was very quiet. It had stopped working and the oxygen content of the water had dropped. The loach had been trying to breathe. Now it was on the bottom in distress, belly-up, but periodically turning over, so we had hope. Jean and I pulled out the pump and tried to find out what was wrong. It took us a while but we finally got it working. Meanwhile we added fresh oxygenated water to the tank hoping that would help. We went to bed worried.
In the morning, while scanning the tank for him, I saw a pale bleached lifeless bit of flotsam floating just above the gravel, looking like a bit of stem. It was the loach. I didn’t realize it at first, the difference was just so striking: from vibrant colorful inquisitive energy to an almost invisible limp little white bit of organic material, the mysterious animating life force gone.
Where we live we are surrounded by the pulsating energy of life, a finger of the vital Yellowstone to Yukon Wildlife Corridor coming right through our property, full of thrivingtrees and plants, hawks and owls, moose, deer, grouse, fox, and other wildlife all adding their energy to the area. But the passing of that little loach left an emptiness in the fish and office community. It reminded us to take constant joy in the privilege of being alive, and being among life in all its myriad forms.
I was living in the High Sierras (Mammoth Lakes) back in the mid 80s. During a drive home, there was a herd of deer in the road. Waiting until they passed, one of the last deer’s hoof got caught in the fence on the side of road. We helped untangled, and it bounced away.
About 5 years later, I was camping high up in the Sierras and a deer walked into my campground. There were about 8 people standing around watching this visit, and the deer came up just to me — kissed my hand — then turned around and left.
Then a few years after this incident, I was working for the Forest Service in the Lake Tahoe area, out in the middle of nowhere. A second deer came up to me, and kissed me again!!
Such a gentle thank you . . . You are very welcome!
For those of you who have seen the Apricot Energy Healing video the following speaks for itself. Apricot reached across species and across generations. . .
“My 2 1/2 year old daughter Lily has fallen in love with Apricot. We came across a youtube clip of your beautiful wolf on facebook. I was watching the clip and Lily climbed into my lap and watched in silence. From then on she was hooked. She thinks that Apricot is looking at her. She watches the video over and over. She watches your other ones also, but she loves the one she calls,” Fixen Apicot” (she can’t sat her R yet) She has given up Dora the Explorer in the morning for your Apricot. She just watches and then comes up with her own stories.”
“Often when she is playing, she plays with Apricot. Sometimes she calls her name but other times she just smacks her lips like shes calling a dog, and pats her leg “lets go honey”, she says. My little Lily has found a very dear connection to Apricot. One I hope will keep her close to the wonders of this earth as she grows. Thank you so much for sharing what you do. Through people and animals and the work you do maybe more people will stand up and take notice. I believe your connection with animals and the earth are the only way we can wake up and heal this planet. I hope that one day My Lily can meet Your Apricot.”
“Lily wants Apricot to have a picture of her also. She is a funy little kid. Lily is a very special soul, she came to us when we didn’t think it was possible. This is the one she picked out.”
After we posted this blog Lily’s mom responded:
“Thank you for letting us be apart, even in a little way, with what you do. We love the blog. Lily went crazy when she saw her picture next to Apricot. First words out of her mouth was …”show it to grandma.” We even had to call Daddy at work. Then we had to watch the video three more times. After the third time she got a little teary eyed and said… ” I miss her.” My little girl amazes me with what she says and think sometimes. Maybe just maybe my “Wild Child” and your Apricot have known each other in another time or place.”
Jean came to the door with a soft concern in his brown eyes, tenderly holding what looked like an unmoving mound of cream colored feathers. It was Banty, a tough little rooster brought to his knees by the – 20 degree cold. A long-term resident, Banty had been raised by Esmerelda, a motherly turkey hen who was never able to hatch any of her own chicks. She was a splendid, ever-patient mother to him, and for her whole life he was the apple of her eye who could do no wrong. She was partial towards him even when he was a grown chicken. He was her only son.
Jean had found Banty huddled on the ground in his coop, weak and unable to stand. His neck was twisted 180 degrees so he was looking directly up at the ceiling, unable to straighten it or balance himself; unable to feed himself or drink. Perhaps a stroke? A nervous system virus brought on by cold stress? We had seen a similar twistedneck with another fine rooster, Strider’s Brother, who is now on his ninth life and 13 years old, so we didn’t despair. Where there is life there is hope.
Life is life and is precious, so in he came, into the warmth of our cabin. It required a bit of arranging as it is only two small rooms and already home to two humans; Boychuk the German Shepherd and Assistant Animal Trainer; Talkeetna the pampered malamute princess; several fragile orchids and a daily required morning visit by Cucumber the wolf (required by Cucumber) who was NOT about to be displaced by a chicken. She had entirely other ideas of what to do with him. She also had other ideas of what to do with the extremely ugly (in her opinion) Talkeenta who now slept in the cabin as SHE used to do (see Cucumber’s stories). Actually all female dogs and wolves were extremely ugly in her personal opinion. So the logistics and feelings involved were delicate.
Jean finely ground up chicken food in our coffee grinder and made it into a liquid mash that he could feed through a syringe; then picking him up, gently straightened Banty’s neck so he could swallow and fed him little by little in the back of his throat. For a couple of days it was touch and go, and he struggled against the unfamiliarity of being held and having his beak opened. But by day two at about 4 in the morning we were rudely awakened by a very very loud announcement of his existence and decision to live. It was clear he had no intention of being discounted. Chicken lives are very serious to chickens. Unfortunately this became a regular morning occurrence.
Gradually he began to be eager for food. Jean would hold him in his arms for a while after each feeding, sending healing energy and supporting his neck in the normal position so he could begin to relearn the sensation of straight posture. After about a week it seemed as if his neck was slightly less askew and Jean started to place him on the floor, supporting him as he tried to find his balance. Sometimes he would flop over and just lie there on his back on the warm floor, seemingly content, as he didn’t struggle to get up again. Then a big day arrived. Jean offered him food in a cup and he was coordinated enough to make a clumsy peck at it – he was on his way to feeding himself! Continuing his physical therapy, Jean would hold the cup in such a way that he had to work a bit to get it, exercising his coordination. Then was he was eating himself and hardly flopping over at all, his head now at only right angles to the ceiling. As he became more mobile and needed his exercise we would open the door to his crate (lined of course with fragrant hay) and release him in the living room which he soon claimed as his own. He would flat-foot his way over to Jean working at the computer and stand next to him making gentle little noises of companionship. Jean would reach down and stroke him. Quite a change from the shy untamed rooster he had been. There was a bond of amazing sweetness developing between man and chicken. . .
He still required attention several times a day and we had to go away for a rare trip overnight. Who would give him the care he needed? Dondy our office manger offered. Eagerly. She had two excellent hens of her own. When we came back we had a hard time wresting him from her control. Her girls (and she) had fallen in love and apparently it was mutual. So, feeling it was best for him, Jean let him go. Last we heard (actually based on daily reports), Banty was in full form and crow, followed by two adoring hens as every rooster should be, living in a 128 year old vintage barn with south facing windows opening into a big wooded parcel. But Jean made it clear that no matter where he lived, Banty would always be his rooster. . .
There were about 16 of them, cordoned of in quarter-acre lots in the surrounding Colorado mountains. Most were in pairs or threesomes; Ghost was alone in his enclosure due to his feeding time aggression. They were victims of abuse; humanistic-whimsical desires who slowly turned burdensome because of an innate intellectual, curiosity which made them unfit for a household. Kira’s formerly broken jaw was forever disfigured; a “gift” from her owner who decided a swing of a bat would serve as the best means to deliver his purpose. They all had their…..stories, just as we have our own. Over the course of 8 months, I began to “touch” those that would let me in. Had I had more time, I am sure all would have revealed their secrets.
They were mostly Grays and Arctics, but some were hybrids. The W.O.L.F. Project in Colorado was a poorly funded, well-intentioned sanctuary. I was studying at Fort Collins at the time as an under-graduate while volunteering at the Veterinary Teaching Hospital. I wanted to volunteer with a group oriented with wolves. I found W.O.L.F. and did my best to volunteer my Saturday or Sunday weekend hours feeding, caring for, or doing whatever needed attending to. I always knew the unspoken connection was there, but I didn’t know just how deep it ran until this opportunity to feel their tongues against my cheek, smell their natural, wild scent underneath my nose, sense their acute awareness within their eyes and movement, did the being I am discover how close I was to the being underneath that fur and behind those piercing eyes.
I remember once entering an enclosure to spread the chopped chicken throughout. I couldn’t help myself but to sit calmly on a log and began inviting the dominant male to eat from my hand. I don’t remember his name, but he was one of the more insecure males who was situated with one other female. At first he was intimidated by my presence, sensing I lacked fear. In there world, as you well know, this could have been internalized as a possible threat; an attempt on my part to establish my ground or dominance. But, I calmly fed the female as he kept about a 10 foot distance, constantly moving and encircling us both. He soon understood I was not there to claim, but to connect. I lofted a leg in his direction, ensuring not to throw it at him, but near enough for recognition. The chicken soon disappeared. His defenses slowly whithered. Within 10-15 minutes he was eating not by my hand, but pieces had been placed by my leg. A connection was born.
There are other stories, but none so vivid as this one. For it is the difficult relationships turned amenable that we remember. A change of heart earned through trust and effort.
What you have created is something one day I would like to experience first-hand. I miss that feeling, that connection with them. Your story of Apricot drew tears from deep inside. You awakened sleeping memories; for now I am far, far away from that life which once created that jewel of a memory. I am working hard to establish myself within this world as a figure of power. One of my motivations is to develop the net worth, network, and influence to ensure organizations such as your own not only have a going concern, but will serve as the model for which many can learn and replicate. You are beautiful human beings who one day I will hug and thank in person for the energy you have invested in the lives you protect. As for now, please accept my recognition and deep appreciation as a thank you for caring, listening, and truly hearing those whose voice and communicative means differ from ours.
Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche conducted a teaching this summer at Earthfire Institute. Watch part two of three as the Rinpoche talks about cultivating compassion for all beings.
On a cold damp day with biting wind, we decided it was time to put the bears to bed for the winter. They were all substantially plump, with Major Bear winning the substantiality prize. His belly was almost touching the ground. He is a slow-moving, good-natured bear so perhaps his metabolism is a bit slower than the others (it is important to be tactful). The bears were still eating – usually they stop when they are ready. But Teton Totem ( still unparalyzed for those who have followed his healing saga) had been giving us signs that he was ready. We realized some years ago that when he was thirsty he would ask us for water by putting out his front right paw and sweeping it towards me in a gesture that to a human could be interpreted as “come,” or “give me ” ( I should check what those words would look like in American Sign Language). What made us decide it was time, though they were still all eating with gusto, was that we saw Teton entering his den, sticking out his head and paw and making that same sweeping motion — he was asking for his hay. (They won’t go to bed without their hay.) He was also sweeping some of the dried portion of his food into his den as a pathetic substitute for hay. It was time. And if it was time for one it was time for all six.
So we gave them each a bale of sweet smelling fresh dry hay and there was no hesitation. The bed making began immediately and in earnest. Teton’s eyes got big and round and he ambled his portly self over and began to arrange it. It had to be just so. It usually takes a full three days of making and remaking and remaking his bed until it is just so. The floor gets rearranged, more padding here, less padding there . . . the edges get rearranged; the log gets placed just so and hay put on it so he can use it as a soft pillow. I relayed this to Dondy, our office manager, who replied – “Of course it takes three days – I would take that long if I had to sleep in the same bed for five months”. Finally he plugged up the entrance until he was invisible. No bear there. No bear home. And that is the last we will see of him for months.
Tuttle’s very first success with walnuts. We were so proud!
Perhaps we should bronze them . . .
It was a long frustrating trial for him and quite an accomplishment. First the nuts were too big and he couldn’t hold them; then he could barely hold them; then he managed to hold them andturn them this way and that but was unable to crack the nut so to speak. We would find them whole, “squirreled” away around his enclosure hidden away in frustration. After all, he had almonds and hazelnuts and pine nuts – what did he need with a lousy old walnut anyway? Then one day I found one open and empty!! And immediately another! He had gone on a walnut orgy. Since then he has been cruelly dubbed Walnut Gut by Dondy the svelte (he now is a rather substantial squirrel). She didn’t help matters by bringing organic walnuts from her mother’s 150 year old trees in California. Then Linda visited him yesterday and cried out “My God, he has jowls!” She doesn’t help either because she keeps feeding him nuts which she freely admits she cannot resist. Then Amanda, who hasn’t seen him recently exclaimed “He has a gut!” as she went to give him a treat. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. And after all, a squirrel has to protect himself from potential starvation.
In one way his nut accomplishment is “cute” . . . but actually it is quite profound. Just how is it that a creature unfolds; develops awareness, coordination, and competence, each in their own individual and species way? It is a miraculous thing.
It is easy, when dealing with nature and life to go from any observation, to something astoundingly profound. If one keeps an open and inquiring mind, wonders truly never cease. And so thank you Tuttle for your breakthrough and the thoughts it brought forth. When we look adoringly at a beloved child, or animal companion, developing and unfolding as a being, we are sensing the miracle of it all.
Named after a passionate earth-mother wolf with a fire in her belly to protect anything vulnerable, Earthfire was founded in 2000 to develop a new model of relating to nature through the voices of the rescued wildlife>
coyote, is pretty tough but this year she started shedding fur on the back half of her body just as winter started in. Very poor timing! It started at her tail, then moved to her hindquarters and across her back. Perhaps it was related to the genetics thatblocked her esophagus when she was a baby. That was a timing thing too.
for four people plus storage and a squirrel; our 18’ x 30’ living cabin, and the animal kitchen which is full except for a narrow passageway through to the bears and wolves. We couldn’t put her in the animal kitchen because that was taken by Banty the rooster, still recuperating from his stroke. Coyotes and chickens don’t mix. Well, actually Pimpernel probably wouldn’t agree but Banty would not have had a stress-free recuperation with a coyote banging about in her cage trying to get at him. We couldn’t bring her into our living cabin because besides two dogs, Cucumber the House Wolf considers that her personal palace. Cucumber isn’t into sharing with dogs or coyotes or anything else and we tend to indulge her after her two near-death experiences.
So we pushed things around in the office; locked Tuttle the squirrel in the bathroom and brought her in. We didn’t think about the plants, soon to be in shock.
she wanted what she wanted and she wanted it NOW with full coyote energy. Knowing better, we still gave in before the force of her demands and let her out for an office exploration, hoping that once she had a chance to explore she would settle down. The cage was roomy and lined with fresh hay, there were coyote toys and she would have been among human company which she really enjoys.
folders; then the next tier, up on the desk sending papers flying. Then she noticed the poor plants. By the time we got there (two seconds) the kalanchoe was on it side minus several leaves, stems and flowers with tooth marks on the rest of the leaves, and being pulled out of its pot, soil spraying in all directions. Next would have been the fourth tier- the tops of bookshelves. It was a coyote orgy of whirling dervish energy and possession (everything was MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE) so there was no way to take it from her without a confrontation. We foolishly hadn’t laid in a supply of special treats. Jean quickly went to get some and we tried to prevent more damage until he returned. Fortunately the same “I want what I want and I want it now” works with treats, and catching her attention by waving them in front of her racing nose, Jean threw them to the back of the cage and sanity was restored. We started the clean up and repotting and apologized to the plant, but she still wanted out out out out out. So we came to a compromise – she would go out during the warmer daytime office hours, and each evening she would come in again. This meant a lot of transportation issues solved with a lot of treats but it was worth the peace. She was generally pleased all around as she won either way.
We have a well-established tank in the office cabin filled with colorful tropical fish who have become a peaceful adapted community. One of the denizens is a kuhlie loach. With its long slender agile body and gentle behavior it is a delight. Entering the office we look forward to seeing its brightly colored black and yellow stripes as it wiggles along the bottom feeling for food with its tiny sensitive whiskers. The other day I looked at the fish tank and saw him very uncharacteristically shooting up to the surface. I wondered briefly but was distracted by a very full office of people. In the evening, when I had time to sort impressions from the day, I remembered, and also realized that the recirculating pump in the tank was very quiet. It had stopped working and the oxygen content of the water had dropped. The loach had been trying to breathe. Now it was on the bottom in distress, belly-up, but periodically turning over, so we had hope. Jean and I pulled out the pump and tried to find out what was wrong. It took us a while but we finally got it working. Meanwhile we added fresh oxygenated water to the tank hoping that would help. We went to bed worried.
For those of you who have seen the 
“Often when she is playing, she plays with Apricot. Sometimes she calls her name but other times she just smacks her lips like shes calling a dog, and pats her leg “lets go honey”, she says. My little Lily has found a very dear connection to Apricot. One I hope will keep her close to the wonders of this earth as she grows. Thank you so much for sharing what you do. Through people and animals and the work you do maybe more people will stand up and take notice. I believe your connection with animals and the earth are the only way we can wake up and heal this planet. I hope that one day My Lily can meet Your Apricot.”
Jean came to the door with a soft concern in his brown eyes, tenderly holding what looked like an unmoving mound of cream colored feathers. It was Banty, a tough little rooster brought to his knees by the – 20 degree cold. A long-term resident, Banty had been raised by Esmerelda, a motherly turkey hen who was never able to hatch any of her own chicks. She was a splendid, ever-patient mother to him, and for her whole life he was the apple of her eye who could do no wrong. She was partial towards him even when he was a grown chicken. He was her only son.
Jean had found Banty huddled on the ground in his coop, weak and unable to stand. His neck was twisted 180 degrees so he was looking directly up at the ceiling, unable to straighten it or balance himself; unable to feed himself or drink. Perhaps a stroke? A nervous system virus brought on by cold stress? We had seen a similar twisted neck with another fine rooster, Strider’s Brother, who is now on his ninth life and 13 years old, so we didn’t despair. Where there is life there is hope.
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position so he could begin to relearn the sensation of straight posture. After about a week it seemed as if his neck was slightly less askew and Jean started to place him on the floor, supporting him as he tried to find his balance. Sometimes he would flop over and just lie there on his back on the warm floor, seemingly content, as he didn’t struggle to get up again. Then a big day arrived. Jean offered him food in a cup and he was coordinated enough to make a clumsy peck at it – he was on his way to feeding himself! Continuing his physical therapy, Jean would hold the cup in such a way that he had to work a bit to get it, exercising his coordination. Then was he was eating himself and hardly flopping over at all, his head now at only right angles to the ceiling. As he became more mobile and needed his exercise we would open the door to his crate (lined of course with fragrant hay) and release him in the living room which he soon claimed as his own. He would flat-foot his way over to Jean working at the computer and stand next to him making gentle little noises of companionship. Jean would reach down and stroke him. Quite a change from the shy untamed rooster he had been. There was a bond of
amazing sweetness developing between man and chicken. . .
It was a long frustrating trial for him and quite an accomplishment. First the nuts were too big and he couldn’t hold them; then he could barely hold them; then he managed to hold them andturn them this way and that but was unable to crack the nut so to speak. We would find them whole, “squirreled” away around his enclosure hidden away in frustration. After all, he had almonds and hazelnuts and pine nuts – what did he need with a lousy old walnut anyway? Then one day I found one open and empty!! And immediately another! He had gone on a walnut orgy. Since then he has been cruelly dubbed Walnut Gut by Dondy the svelte (he now is a rather substantial squirrel). She didn’t help matters by bringing organic walnuts from her mother’s 150 year old trees in California. Then Linda visited him yesterday and cried out “My God, he has jowls!” She doesn’t help either because she keeps feeding him nuts which she freely admits she cannot
resist. Then Amanda, who hasn’t seen him recently exclaimed “He has a gut!” as she went to give him a treat. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. And after all, a squirrel has to protect himself from potential starvation.
Answering the Call of Windwalker the Cougar
