Manifest Destiny: America from the Bottom Up - Animals

[This entry is a supplemental post that might be interesting for children or animal lovers of any age.]

BIG CRITTERS

When I was preparing to depart on this adventure I thought quite a bit about what to do if I came in contact with wild animals. So far I have only heard the mid-sized and bigger ones, but I've seen a lot of small ones--wild and domesticated. On only one night - three days ago I think it was - did I ever get a tinge of concern by what I heard...

It had been a frustrating day for me. I had used up all my water after the store closed in North Scituate, RI. So I was stuck for about 12 hours with nothing to drink. It might be why I was hypersensitive to noises in the woods.

For the first eight of those hours I was trying to sleep in a great spot across the road and a little way down from the Rhode Island State Police Museum. The entire forest area around Scituate is a vast reserve, being the clean water reservoir for all of the City of Providence. It is fenced off with little yellow signs every 500 feet or so that warns against trespassing. So it was with great reluctance that I snuck through a small field and into the woods to sleep that night.

The spot looked perfect. The ground was soft with new leaf litter. A large tree stood between my chosen spot and the road. But immediately I heard something very large walk through the dark part of the woods in front of me.

My habit of late has been to set down the pack, roll out my small towel and simply sit for awhile to make sure everything seems secure. But there was this constant rustling. I'm sure now that it must have been a deer. But I stayed up from 8:00 pm until well after midnight listening to this big guy walking back and forth. I just didn't feel comfortable enough to bed down until there were no sounds for about an hour. And one way or another sleep did take me.

BIRDS

I had noticed, since walking out of Dorchester, MA, that every ten miles or so there would be a dead bird in the breakdown lane. They never looked as though they had been killed by another animal. They were whole and simply lying there. I surmised that they must be the casualties resulting from collisions with automobiles, though in examining one closely I concluded that it's neck wasn't broken. But I still find it strange that I had never seen this before. Maybe rarely during my walks in Maine would I see the occasional dead bird on the side of the road.

Of course it is the live birds that I love to see the most. When I was in Taunton, MA coming out of a Market Basket I saw a huge Turkey Vulture circling over the sand pit on the other side of the road. These birds with their bald red heads and five foot wingspans are so incredibly impressive to watch as they soar in circles, slowly canvasing the landscape below them, looking for carrion to munch on. Some hours later and about six miles further south I believe I saw the same bird. I think he had an easier time than I did getting that far down the road. I was a bit jealous.

Several times I've approached a squawking mass of what sounds like a thousand tiny fingernails scratching a blackboard. Not sure what kind of bird. But apparently small unmated birds will flock to one tree to roost for the night, especially when flying south for the winter.

Small birds roosting--Google Images.

They are funny though. They will be chattering away loudly and then as I get to within about 20 feet they go dead silent. Sometimes I stop and look up at them. They all turn and look back at me as if to say, "We're invisible now that we aren't talking, so why are you still looking at us...duh!?"

In one case I caught sight of a particular bird and she cocked her head. Then I cocked my head. Then about twenty other feathered friends did the same. After a short time they grew accustomed to my presence and I heard a tiny "Squawk?" Then a couple more answered with a "...squawky-squawk??" Then the whole congregation took up their conversation from where they had left it off before I arrived. And, feeling ignored, I just sighed and walked on.

Coming out of Easton, MA, I passed a turkey farm. All the big white turkeys were lounging around the yard. When I came to about halfway down their fenced area, I turned and did my best turkey gobble sound. Instantly all the heads went up in the air, turning from side to side and then focusing on me. A couple birds stood up and began to approach the fence along the road. I gobbled again. They all stood up and walked slowly toward me, then they started to run. I would gobble, and they would gobble. As I adjusted my voice to be more like theirs they went completely bananas! They were trying to climb the fence, running around in circles, trying to fly up, and ran into each other. I felt like a turkey Moses, or a turkey Pied Piper. The feeling of power was intoxicating! OK, maybe I'm overstating it. But it was fun. I decided to walk on before Farmer Jones came out with his shotgun and forced me to marry one of them.

Turkeys like the ones I saw--Google Images.

They could have been my flock, and I could have been their prophet...

CHIPMUNKS

By far, the most interesting of the animals I have seen is the chipmunk...

The noble, cantankerous and numerous chipmunk--Google Images.

Walking out of Scituate, RI, along Route 102 south, I got my first impression of the western Rhode Island Chipmunk Metropolis. There were zillions of them!

This part of New England is a beautiful combination of ancient streams built into stone lined water channels for fields and house properties that have long since vanished. As in Maine, settlers chopped down nearly every tree in sight to make these and other homesteads. The trees we see in New England now are fifth and sixth generation seedlings left over from those days. Rock-walled cattle and pig pounds were found in every town used to collect stray animals and hold them to be claimed by their owners or sold for the cost of feeding and care. And there was evidence of them along this road. 

Fallen barns, burned out farmhouses, all once had animals of every sort running around. Now there are none--except for chipmunks. Apparently there are no chipmunk pounds, but maybe there should be.

They barked out their high-pitched complaints, warnings, gossip, mating calls and stand up routines from every bush top, stone wall, fence post and fallen tree in the forest. They would charge at each other and fight bitterly, rolling around in the leaves, kicking up moss and soil, and without any concern about falling off their perches continue to wrestle. 

Every few steps I took, I would hear a sudden rustle in the leaves and a darting reddish, white and black streak would zip into the woods. I got the distinct impression that this chipmunk city assigned and posted sentries all along the road. Their guardianship went on for miles and miles. 

I was climbing the biggest hill I'd ever climbed and I hated it. I would think I'd reached the top and then a curve in the road would reveal the next incline. I'm used to maybe 3 of these (hill-to-plateau-to hill patterns) in a row. But here there were 40 of 50 (that is not an exaggeration), and ALL went upwards. The only thing that kept me sane as I slogged along, drenched in sweat was this active - and immense - community of little chipmunks. I talked to them, but they wouldn't listed. They were only concerned with yelling at eachother in their tiny way. I concluded (rightly or wrongly) that these little guys and gals must have filled the void left by the absence of bigger animals. 

NO CATS YET

Even cats will go after chipmunks but they won't usually eat them. There must be a very small population of cats on that road. In fact, since I began my journey I have seen exactly ZERO cats. None on front porches, none in windows, no strays. I find this strange. In Maine I'd see at least one cat a week in my walks.

LOTS OF DOGS

Dogs. You have to love 'em because they are such straightforward animals. They wear their emotions on their hairy sleeves. But every house I've ever passed by with a dog in the yard has meant that barking would be part of the scene; sometimes growling too, and often a lot of hyperactivity on the dog's part.

Two days ago, while passing through Charlestown, RI, I strolled by a house with three pit bull-looking dogs. They were restrained by an invisible fence. But talk about aggressive toward each other! There was one big boy about 60 pounds of pure muscle who would run up to his brothers and latch right onto the scruff of their necks, angrily shaking his head back and forth as he bit.

The two other dogs (one old and white and one small and thin) would get these significant bites and yelp. I felt bad for them. The big brute used me as an excuse to beat up on his friends. It wasn't even about me at all. And it also wasn't his fault. The yard looked like my description in Salvage Yard.

I never fear dogs. They'll even run right up to me bearing teeth but just want to establish territory. I just walk by...

Sitting at a Stop and Shop parking lot's grassy area, a man approached with a pit bull-like dog, off leash ahead of him. She skipped over to me and immediately I could tell she just wanted to meet and get a good scratch, which I was happy to provide.

The man finally reached me and said "Hey...thanks for not freaking out. She loves to meet people and she never strays from my sight." I replied that it was all good and that I loved dogs.

Finally, after a night's sleep on the edge of  Route 2, I half-stumbled out on to the road to begin the morning trek. Adjusting the weight on my back I finally found my footing. As I strolled in the cold wet air I saw a medium sized shape stretched out across the line from the breakdown lane into the traffic lane. It looked like a branch at first. Then it looked more like a fisher, stretched out like that. But as I finally came upon it, I got that sinking feeling. I knew it was a pet because of its blue collar. It was small enough to be a large cat, but it wasn't. It was a small, mixed breed dog (like the famous dog, "Benji," but a bit darker in color). His eyes were open, his tongue was out. Probably, the last thing he ever knew was the exhilaration of running. He was drenched from morning dew. There was no blood or gore.

"Benji" - His real name was Higgins - the famous dog actor--Google Images.

I moved him over to the grassy side of the road. His body was limp. Rigor mortis had not yet set in, indicating that the accident had just occurred within the last couple of hours, right when I was waking up. I reached down and gently removed his collar (which had no name or address on it) and placed it perpendicularly across his chest just to let the owner know that someone cared enough to at least pay attention.

It is always sad to think someone's pet has passed on to the happy hopping grounds of memory. But all of we animals must make that transition someday. And, once it's happened, the pain of that dark gateway is over.

Maybe if we can learn to talk to the little birds, lead the turkeys to the promised land, watch the chipmunks settle their differences, accept the passing of our pets and still feel human enough to care for each other, the human animal still might just end up deserving of the world he/she lives in. I think so.

It is likely that I will have a lot more to say about the other animals along this long road in the next few months. If so, you'll know where to find it.