The Free Radical

“Don’t go too far, dear.”

“I won’t, Grandma.”

“And keep a close eye on Jesse. Don’t let her get into nothing!”

The little boy nodded “Uh-huh” as he took off to catch up to Jesse who was already snuffling along the footpath among the trees. The puppy wasn’t very good on a leash yet, but she wouldn’t usually stray too far. Jesse tended to stay in sighting distance; the little boy was her whole world after all.

The world this day was magical; everyone knew that! You just had to look at the freshly fallen snow draped across the evergreen boughs, smoothening out the rough forest floor in a pillowy whitewash, dusting the cliffs across the creek. It’s like everything was brand new under this curtain of winter’s silent charm.

The boy had lived here his whole life, but every day was a grand new adventure. There was always something new to see, critters to meet, pathways to discover. Grandma had lived here in this tiny rural community for even longer, maybe forever, reckoned the boy. This ruggedly beautiful place was their home– for real.

There were little dirt roadways to the river and quad tracks through the trees. And then there were deer trails and rabbit runs branching off in all directions. A boy could wander here his whole life and never walk the same path twice! Jesse led the way by the mysterious and playful dictates of her puppy nose.

She stopped every once in a while, lifting her head high with floppy ears flexed. There was something far away… and the little boy could hear it too whenever he paused the crunching of his own footsteps in the thick snow. Maybe it was a wolf or a coyote somewhere up the river valley… The boy wondered what it might be yipping about.

After a time it became clear to the boy that there was more than one voice yowling in the distance. Maybe it was a whole pack of wolves arguing over a fresh kill! He had been to the site of a fresh kill once before with his dad. They’d been out cross-country skiing when they’d suddenly come upon the carnage by the river. A deer had been pulled apart leaving fur and bones and a whole lot of blood scattered over what his dad had called hell’s half acre. The pack had already moved on. His dad had said “Well, it looks like they made short work of that poor fella.”

A half dozen dogs, each twice the size of Jesse, the boy could well imagine that a deer wouldn’t last very long in the face that kind of wild hunger. They’d all have to be quick and stern to get their fair share…

But after a few more minutes it became clear to the boy that he and Jesse weren’t hearing the disagreements of wolves up the river valley. First of all, they wouldn’t shut up. The howling and yipping was a continuous chorus of dubious intent. And the other strange thing was that it wasn’t always coming from the same place. Those canines were moving around… and barking their fool heads off!

To the boy it was a real mystery; to Jesse it was a periodic cause for concern… at least until something else like a rolling chunk of snow would vie for her attention. Puppies are like that. The boy was steadfastly curious though; he wanted to know what was going on… and it wouldn’t be long before he found out.

He was only about a twenty-minute walk from Grandma’s porch– not too far, even by Grandma’s standards. Suddenly the baying dogs seemed a whole lot closer! They were coming right at him!

“C’mon Jesse! Let’s get out of here!” The puppy was frightened now. She was shaking, and it wasn’t from the cold. She was quite content to turn around and head for home. They had just begun to retrace their footsteps through the snow when something quick and silent cut across their path from left to right. “Was that–?” He didn’t even want to say it out loud, didn’t want to believe it! In a moment both the boy and the puppy were examining the footprints lying perpendicular to their own. Jesse’s hackles were raised and she began whining. The baying of the hounds grew suddenly much louder…

The boy yelled “Shit!” as he laid his hand within the track of the cougar who’d just rushed by. He looked over his shoulder and already could see the hunting dogs rushing towards them. Jesse crouched in the snow and peed herself. The boy scooped her up and started to run…

The dogs were on them in a matter of seconds. Undoubtedly they were well trained to track and chase cougars, to exhaust them and tree them for their masters. But in the excitement, in the frenzy of the hunt, hot on the heels of their quarry, they couldn’t really be blamed for making a little mistake…

The little boy and his puppy were ripped to shreds in a dizzying second…

And suddenly all was quiet until one of the hounds, licking the blood from his jowls, began to whimper… a sure sign of remorse.
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Dear Cougar Hunter,

I’m a fiction writer… or am I?

Today I heard the unmistakeable sounds of the hunt– again. I was scarcely a minute beyond the Dutch Creek community when I heard the baying of your hounds. They were just northwest of our longtime home.

I walk these hills around the river valley on a daily basis. I am well acquainted with the furry locals: bear, wolf, elk, moose, coyote and yes, cougar. I’ve met them all, eye-to-eye. I don’t fear them, and they don’t fear me… or my puppy.

What I really am scared of though is meeting up with your pack of terrorizing hounds. You scoff? What are the odds of that, you say? Well, just over a month ago we came disturbingly close to that very scenario. Thankfully we didn’t actually meet up with your dogs that day; no, we encountered the cougar they were chasing instead! You can read about that instance here if you wish.

What would happen if your hunters suddenly met up with a person out in the woods innocently walking his dog? If they were thick in the chase, hot on the scent, revved up to maximum excitement, would they just calmly pass on by? Do you know? Are you sure? Am I wrong to be concerned?

Should you be engaged in a cougar hunt so very close to a rural community like ours? Or is that precisely why you’re out there doing what you’re doing– to protect us all from these wild fiends? I’m just asking questions… for which I have no answers.

I’m a romantic… and some would say a total fool, but I actually have relationships with the forest creatures around here– including the mountain lions. I’ve had another intimate encounter with a cougar before which you can read about here. I’m not saying that we get along as cuddly friends, but we have a healthy respect for each other, and we each think there’s something of value to be explored and developed in this unique association. And well, to be frank, you’re not helping the situation. As a matter of fact, you’re really mucking things up!

There’s nothing I can do to stop you. You are perfectly within your rights to pursue your murderous intent. Most of my fellow humans would even likely applaud your efforts. But dammit! My heart goes out to the lion. I don’t wish to see my friends murdered for sport. But like I said, there’s really not much I can do.

There’s just this one thing though… I choose to symbolically stand with Cougar. As sovereign allies we stand as the new Lords of Karma. Don’t worry; this is just some woo-woo energy thing– kinda like a curse… something rough-and-tumble bastards don’t usually concern themselves with.

As a cougar hunter, your intent is clear. It is to terrorize and eventually murder these magnificent cats. Like I said, you have every right to formulate such an intent. But as a human allied to the great Nation of Cougar it is my prerogative to turn back any intent aimed at domination and power over others, to return such intent to its originator. Intent is a universal force, and the universe is capable of damn near anything. As you project your aspirations along the lines of terror and destruction, be warned that such unloving intent will come straight back at you in whatever manner the universe itself sees fit. It is done.

This energy “spell” applies only to the area around Dutch Creek. You are free to happily go a-murdering elsewhere and remain exempt. Thank you for your time and attention.

Sincerely,
Niels.