Call Me A Wimp

Taking advantage of the stellar weather, my mom, myself, Tessa, Reba, Diva and Ryder made our way to the local Grazing Reserve. With the dogs cavorting wildly off leash we made our way down the deserted oil service road. We had traveled about 15 minutes and I had been noticing some tracks in the snow.

Catching my mom's attention I pointed out how large they were and I asked what they were. Back straightening she mutters, "Something we don't want to see." Quirking my head I asked what she meant. She grimaced, "Cat." That succinct world sent a chill down my spine. I looked at my black and white pack and began calling them in close to me. We had been walking though open prairie so I wasn't overly concerned about a sneak attack. What had me a bit stressed was the knowledge of a long, miserable snow filled winter - generally creating hungry wildlife.

Keeping the dogs close we retreated towards the staging area. Eyes peeled I noticed a plethora of prints. This was not particularly good. For us. I definitely didn't want to be in the cougars main travel area.

I realize that many, many people safely coexist with the big cats. I prefer to err on the side of caution. I am fully, and completely, a chicken when it comes to anything that can eat me. (Or my doggy family.)