The Ramblings of a "Gypo"Logger's Son: 20 A Cougar is a Good Cougar But Not Until Dead

The following event is what eventually turned my imaginary fears into reality. It all began after a busy day when everyone in the house was fast asleep. My dad was suddenly awakened with a loud growling sound from outside the bedroom window. Not sure what the sound might be he immediately jumped out of bed and grabbled the flashlight that he kept on his night table and peered out past the raspberry patch. Mom who in the meantime was awakened by the commotion said, “Gervase what is going on?” My dad replied, “I can’t see well because of the raspberry patch but I think a cougar might have just killed a deer beyond the fence.” Mom replied, “Don’t think about going out now in the dark, wait until daylight.”

Dad heartily agreed and the next morning there in the grass just beyond the fence dad could see clearly the scuffle between the cougar and a deer. It seems that the cougar had won the encounter and grabbling the deer in its strong jaws had dragged it up the steep slope behind the house and through the apple orchard. Here the cougar had dropped the deer in a small hollow, covering it with leaves until its return to feed on its kill the following evening.

Us kids thought this was pretty cool as my dad and Uncle let us go out and see the tracks of the cougar where it had killed the deer, and where it had covered it for its return meal behind the apple orchard.

We all waited impatiently for evening when the cougar would return to feed. My dad not having a gun carried an axe, and my Uncle a 22. The normal weapon for hunting cougar’s in those days would be to carry a 30-30. Crazy or not, off my dad and Uncle went to get themselves a cougar. David and Dawna and I were dying to go along but my dad said “Forget it, you kids can come no farther then the orchard.” “Please dad, please, why can’t we?” “I will not say it again, you can go no farther.” My dad said. With that my dad and uncle took off and we waited very impatiently until they returned.

I can still picture my dad and Uncle as they climbed the hill into the forest behind the orchard, followed by Uncle’s mutt Skipper. Unknown to everyone Skipper was to play the biggest part in the expedition.

They had not gone very far with Skipper hot on the cougar’s scent when Skipper started barking like crazy and off he went with my uncle and dad running till winded to keep up. Skipper had spooked the cougar away from his meal and was chasing it frantically through the brush. Little did the cougar realize that with one swipe of its paw it could end poor Skipper’s existence, but instead kept running until it found a tree large enough to climb. In a matter of moments my uncle and dad caught up with Skipper and the treed cougar, which was now glaring down at the dog with a menacing stare.

My uncle quickly raised his 22 and with the first shot the cougar fell out of the tree. It fell with a thud at my dad ‘s feet and he courteously stepped aside feeling that this was not the time to use his axe, and that valor could be best displayed on another day and in a different venue. My uncle never paused in his shooting and kept firing until the magazine of his 22 was empty and the cougar lay still. This gave Skipper the opportunity he had been waiting for and he victoriously started biting at the cougar.

It was with great excitement that we greeted my uncle and dad as they came dragging the cougar back down to the orchard. It was not a big cat by known standards but we all marched down from the orchard to the house in triumph, where the rest of our families waited.

The next day my uncle and dad had their pictures taken with the cougar laying in front of them, its head held up with a forked stick. Of course Skipper was in the picture and so was the gun in the background propped up against a tree. My dad declined to have his axe as part of the picture. My Uncle however, as it was his trophy, had the hide sent to town where it was made into a rug with the cougar’s head as part of it. I thought it kind of cool to see the rug on my Uncle’s living room floor, with the cougar’s cunning grin that seemed to say, “your turn is coming,” every time I visited my aunt and uncle.