Hunting Strays Story by Denzlo Hancock

 “When the ranch north of Wickenburg Arizona was purchased in the fall of 1972, the sale contract included three wild steers which the previous owner had not been successful in rounding up. These were large crossbred animals which had been on the loose for a few years. They were shy, skittish, and athletic. They could climb and jump like mountain goats and run like mule deer. Dad and I went out one day in the spring of 1973 to see if we could locate them to bring them in. Signs had told us they were in the rough north east range of the ranch. The north eastern border of the ranch ran the length of a high mountain ridge until it came to the northern border which was also a natural border of cliffs, ridges and canyons. Dad was on Bonnie, a young, quick, surefooted, black Arabian mare inhibiting a number of characteristics and features similar to thoroughbreds and I was riding on Clyde, an older, stout, chestnut colored, gelding we had received from Aunt Mildred and Uncle Bill Anderson. Through the day we traveled up and down slopes and through and around a seemingly never ending landscape of obstacles including Silver Cholla, Saguaro, Catclaw, Yucca, Palo Verde trees, Mesquite thickets, Joshua trees, Ocotillo, Prickly Pear, rock slides, ravines, cliffs and boulders. As we moved further into the progressively steeper terrain the forbidding vegetation thinned out but only because it had fewer spots available to take root a midst the rocks. We rode down one very steep ravine and near the bottom we came to a drop off and saw the floor of the ravine about four feet down. Looking at this drop and the steep incline on both sides of this chasm I felt sure if we dropped to the floor of this gorge we would not get the horses back out.

I was an otherwise bold 13 year old at the time but we had only been on the ranch for a few months and most of my prior riding experience had been primarily on level ground with almost no rocks in Utah’s Uintah Basin. As I looked down into this hole, I questioned the wisdom of proceeding into this trap, as it appeared to me and I inquired, “Are you sure you want to go down there; what if there is no way out?” Dad told me to go ahead and assured me we would be fine and wanted me to jump the chestnut down into the bottom but I was happy when Clyde refused to go. Clyde simply sensed my reluctance and answered my lack of confidence with his own refusal. Dad then went ahead on Bonnie and she just hopped almost effortlessly to the bottom and then my horse willingly followed. We were now at the base of this ravine with no space for a running start to jump the horses back out so there was nowhere to go but down. We continued on down the ravine where we came to another drop off and again my heart sank as we prodded our horses down and continued further into the unknown. Eventually we came to a place where the only exit from the crevice was down a steep incline of a shale rock slide. Dad dismounted and tightened up the cinch to his saddle and seeing I was not following his example, he inquired; “Don’t you want to tighten your cinch?” His question was also a suggestion but I was already numb with trepidation and was afraid to get off the horse in this rugged terrain and at this slope. I simply said “No, I’ll be fine”. Dad made no reply but finished tightening his saddle and mounted up and proceeded down the steep mountainside. I followed and was leaning back ‘til I was almost lying on the rump of my horse to keep upright. I soon noticed the neck of my mount disappearing under the saddle and very soon I knew I was in trouble as my saddle was about to slide over the horses head. I called out to Dad for help. As if anticipated, he quickly turned Bonnie sideways on the slope as Clyde and I slid into them which stopped our decent. I don’t know how Bonnie managed to keep her footing but she was sure footed and held firm while I stepped off and adjusted the saddle and tightened the cinch. This was accomplished while Clyde sat on his rump. With the saddle secured we continued on down the mountain and I thought about and rehearsed in my mind the importance of carefully heeding not only the commands but also Dad’s example and quiet suggestions. I now realize there were many lessons; taught to us by permitting us to experience things for ourselves as long as we or someone else was not in serious danger.

It was late in the day and the sun was going down as we reached easier traveling and started on our way back home. It seemed like we did a lot in the dark in those days. The miles we had to travel were still new to us and as I followed along behind Dad I tried to dodge the obstacles we encountered. I would carefully listen for and then take whatever action I could to avoid whatever Dad would encounter on the trail ahead of me. It was scary riding along in the dark thinking of all the cactus, thorns and Catclaw we had passed earlier in the day. I pulled up to a stop when I heard a brushing and scraping of something and then Dad exclaimed “Wow! That nearly took my head off”. Dad had caught the limb of a thorny Ocotillo under his chin and its thorns had sawed their way through the front of Dad’s neck as his passing drug the spiked branch across his throat. For the duration of our trip home in the dark I vigilantly tried to avoid all of the passing obstacles and was largely successful. Dad was left with the bloody torn flesh, then scabs and finally scars as a reminder of our night ride together.

Later we were successful in rounding up those strays by getting them to mingle in with other cattle we had brought to the range.”

Wild Pets

During the spring of my third grade year I went out to the field where Dad was sending irrigation water into prairie dog holes to drown them out and discourage their infestation of our pasture. I showed up at the same time one very wet varmint emerged from his water filled home and I quickly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck before Dad could deal him a death blow with his shovel. I was so quick at the rescue that Dad could only watch in amazement and I am sure some amusement as I carried the rodent off to the house. I put him in a canary cage with some grass and weeds which I thought might look appetizing to a prairie dog, then the next day I carried him off to school for show and tell. During class he started moving around in the cage and the whole thing tipped off of the counter. Our normally boring class turned to pandemonium. When the cage hit the floor the top dislodged from the base and the rodent tried to make a run for safety with a bunch of kids running around him some laughing and others were shrieking. One brave young man was able to catch him but not being practiced at the proper method of carrying a wild varmint my schoolmate was promptly bitten but he held on. The excitement of the moment decreased when the critter was once again caged, the injured finger received a band aid, and we were able to get back to our regular school work but I believe most of the students were turning to check on the cage whenever the inmate made a move. At the end of school I sold the prairie dog to one of the fellows at school for fifty cents. I believed it to be a fair price for a wild, almost drowned, prairie dog which I had already been able to show off. The only problem was I got teased when I got back home because it seems I had sold a two cent critter for fifty cents but as it was pointed out, I had let him go in a five dollar cage.

When I was about twelve years old my older brothers were busy working with dad on some project so I had the responsibility to hike a short distance from home to turn the irrigation water into the ditch leading to our farm. While I was placing the temporary dam at the community canal diverting the water into our ditch, I happened to observe some nearby alfalfa waving, which revealed the presence of some creature moving through it. Always anxious for any possible excitement, I hunted around the area on a quest for adventure until I spotted a skunk which had been disturbed by my activity at the canal. The ditch from the canal to our farm was overgrown with vegetation close to the inlet and the skunk could have been hanging out in or around the ditch to find grubs and worms etc. It is likely the surge of water streaming into the inlet of the ditch flushed him out. I endeavored to keep a safe distance and keep him in sight while trying to figure out how to take advantage of this opportunity I had been blessed with.

To me this strikingly beautiful mammal didn't look too big or seem to be too much of a challenge and because I had heard tell of people making pets out of skunks I imagined myself with the most unique pet around. I figured if I could just safely capture him then I would be able to work out the rest later. Working back and forth I managed to steer him back over towards the ditch where I was able to get a piece of an old tarp over him.  Once he was covered I pinned down the tarp edges with my hands and knees; then worked to get full control of my prize. My utmost concerns were to keep from being bitten or sprayed so I worked cautiously to hinder him from using his natural defenses. Concentrating my efforts on both ends I was eventually able to get his head and tail secured. It took a considerable struggle to secure his tail and hind legs in my right hand and then, while keeping the tarp between us, I forced his head down between his paws and next I managed to secure his neck and front legs in my left hand. I must have been quite a sight heading home with my trophy.

When I arrived back at the farm with my new pet project I was able to perform a quick release of my double grasp as I deposited him into an empty rabbit hutch we had out back. My concerns were somewhat relieved with this completion of a major step resulting in an initial feeling of relief and victory. I then realized I had a scent of skunk lingering. As careful as I had been there was still a well deserved stench about me; especially where I had held his tail. Apparently, I realized, it is not possible to carry a wild skunk home in your bare hands without getting some stink of skunk on yourself. I went into the house to try to clean up. Mother wanted to know what in the world I had been up to. As carefully as I could, I related the story of my new found prize hoping she would fully understand and appreciate the attraction and value of my treasure. I told her I thought I could make a pet out of it and enveloped with an expression of concern she asked how big it was. From her question I seemed to suddenly have a revelatory moment and realized a small young skunk would be the easiest to train. I held my hands up about a foot apart showing her the approximate size of my skunk, strategically leaving out the length of the tail in my demonstration. I could tell she was ill at ease when she released a short gasp and it was obvious she was not at all comfortable with the idea, but she did not tell me to get rid of it. Perhaps she thought I would come to my senses on my own. I scrubbed my hands again and although it was better it took some time before I was able to completely rid myself of the awful odor.

I tried to feed table scrapes to the skunk but he seemed content to stay withdrawn in a dark corner of the pen and I never saw him show any interest in the rations of food or water I offered. I started to realize the task of taming this skunk would be an extremely difficult if not impossible chore since he was not going to show any interest in what I brought to him.  I really could not call him my pet because he was not willing to acknowledge me at all or even look in my direction when I went to visit and feed him. A couple of days later the skunk mysteriously made an escape from the hutch. I realized immediately someone had released him as the door was unlatched and I was quite sure he could not have gotten free on his own. I suspect Dad had something to do with his freedom although nothing was ever mentioned about it. I figured if no one gave me grief about bringing home a full grown skunk then I would not complain about someone liberating it. The initial thrill of the capture had diminished significantly and by then his release really didn't matter to me and I was okay with him being gone.

Not long after the escape we started to systematically lose chickens from our coup. It was pretty clear our farm now had a skunk with a taste for fresh chicken and he was returning on a regular basis to feed. I had unwittingly introduced a wild skunk to our farm where he could come for an easy meal. I was justly given the assignment to stay up and protect our laying hens. Our chicken coup had a sloped corrugated sheet metal roof. Denzlo and I tried to rest on top of the shed while watching for the skunk to show up. We spotted him about the same time he was squeezing under the gate to the chicken run. Our excitement at seeing the predator caused us to make a bunch of noise on the galvanized roof while trying to get down. When we had gone up to the top we had plenty of light and were not in a state of excitement so ascending to the top was no problem. Descending in the dark was more of a challenge. At this time of my life, realistic planning ahead was not one of my gifts or a part of my regular routine. We had not planned out how to accomplish a speedy decent in the dark, or even think about it, let alone practice. The result was it took longer than it should have and once we reached the ground there was still a welded wire fence between us and the quickly retreating skunk. By the time I got over the sheep fence our target had gone under the next obstacle which was a barbed wire fence and he had made his escape into the concealment of the brush beyond.

Dad was incredulous at the notion of a couple of healthy boys who enjoyed running, jumping and climbing, allowing a skunk to waddle away from them and make his escape. I was surprised myself at how easily the critter had managed to outdistance his pursuers and disappear into the darkness. Not long after this I spotted our farm's new skunk during daylight hours in the hay field next to our home. While keeping an eye on him I had our 22 rifle brought to me and then we followed the skunk until he was a good distance from home where I ended his days and some of our troubles.

One day Alvin came from the back pasture and he was carrying two nearly full sized owl chicks he had withdrawn from a nest. Alvin and I had both practiced some with a home study taxidermy course and perhaps he thought one of us would be able to stuff these beautiful owls. They were quite large and nearly fully feathered but were still dependent on their parents for food. I immediately claimed the privilege of caring for them. I was able to secure some food for them but soon knew I was not doing a good job of it. I noticed the parent owls hanging around and so I put the young owls in their wire cage on top of our barn and for the next several days I observed the parents hanging around and bringing food to the chicks. After a couple of weeks I released the fledglings and they both easily flew away and landed in a tree nearby. I was happy they had survived their captivity and were now free.

The attraction I had for wildlife was inherited in part at least from Dad. There were occasions at the ranch when Dad brought home interesting wild critters including a young coyote pup which Robert Jensen penned up for awhile and then took with him when he returned home to Salt Lake City.  There was a desert tortoise which Dad carried home to show us and on one occasion he brought in a hissing and spitting wild bobcat on the end of his lariat. This was the predator which had been a real nuisance since we moved to the ranch as it had carried off our turkeys and some of our chickens. After the beautiful predator had been killed, I spent a couple of hours skinning it to make sure I did a great job including the head and paws.

One afternoon, Dad brought home a wild burro which he had roped while out riding the range. It did not take very long to tame her for as soon as she tasted a little grain she was only too happy to hang around. Within an hour of dad arriving with her on the end of a lasso she was eating grain out of our hands and we were taking turns leading and riding her around. Lacking an abundance of imagination we promptly named her Jill. The grain was all she needed to decide to stick around and wait for another opportunity to indulge in the nourishment we provided. We never had to pen her up as she seemed content to hang around in the ranch house pasture waiting for the next complimentary handout. She was an instant pet and was usually close by. We put a cow bell around Jill's neck which we used to lead her and whenever it was milking time for our cow we could hear the bell ringing as Jill came along to share the grain provided. Jill was never put to use as a working ranch animal nor was she ever saddled or put in a harness but with the leather strap and bell around her neck we were able to enjoy great fun riding and playing. She quickly learned her ability to trot under a low hanging branch of a Joshua tree in order to unseat her burden as the rider would hop off before being brushed off by the harsh desert vegetation so plentiful around the ranch house. When the ranch was sold, Jill's bell collar was removed and she was returned to the wild being left in one of the pastures on the ranch.

Quills & Teeth

As a young man living in Roosevelt, Utah I was actively involved, along with my whole family in the culture, activities and practices of the predominantly Latter-day Saint community where we lived. Our family had moved to Utah from Arizona when I was only a few months old. A primary reason for the move was the fact of the three oldest children in our family (Irene, LaVerne, & Beverly) were quickly reaching marriageable age. Clay Springs, where we came from, was a small community in eastern Arizona and most of the families there were related to us and many of them were close relatives. There was enough of a concern about interrelated marriage and relationships to prompt a move. Once decided it took a couple of attempts until a final destination was decided upon and carried out. The Family first moved to Fredonia in Northern AZ in the fall of 1956 where dad tried to make a deal on a ranch near there. This was another small community with closely held relationships and close local attachments which proved to be an obstacle. There was enough resistance to making a deal on the ranch with a family from out of town to squash the hope of our securing the desired place there and the proposed deal fell through. Dad and Mom then searched around more and looked further north where they considered buying a dairy farm near Springville, Utah but after weighing the pros and cons, taking into account the completely full time commitment of running a dairy, and being concerned about being available to “Serve the Lord” the folks rejected the dairy idea and decided upon the home and 72 acre farm west of Roosevelt, Utah on Highway 40.

Growing up on a farm there was always plenty of work to be done but keeping kids busy doing what should be done was itself a tremendous task and an uphill battle which never ends. Dad did not like to see us kids wasting time after school watching TV. He tried to teach us by explaining that those people on the TV had made their fortunes and absentmindedly watching them was certainly not going to be of much benefit to us. He taught us by example and verbally tried to impress on us the value of getting busy and making our own way. One thing I clearly remember is not wanting to be found idle in the house when dad returned home from work. We had a large picture window in the living room at the front of our home and when Dad or sometimes Dad and Mom would turn into our driveway the TV or record player would quickly go off and those of us who had been wasting daylight would try to slip out unnoticed to get busy working on our chores. Now when I think of it, our hasty exit from the house when the folks came home at chore time must have looked something like cockroaches disappearing from an infested area when a light comes on. When the weather was pleasant we might not be wasting time in the house but could often be goofing off somewhere else on the farm or neighboring areas. One of those places was the swinging tree.

There was a creek running through our place called the Dry Gulch; we always referred to it as “The Gulch”. There was usually not much water running through it but there was always some. At times of heavy rains or snow melt from higher elevations the Gulch could run very fast and high. Where the creek made a bend along its path next to our farm there was a place we called the “Sand” where, in ages long past, the creek had deposited a nice beach like area which we would enjoy using for a playground.  At the Sand we could dig pits, bury each other, hunt for scorpions to torture by depositing then into a stirred up ant hill, practice long and high jumping and try anything else which might be done in a great sandpit. There at the edge of the creek at the edge of the Sand was a nice Cottonwood tree with branches hanging over the creek and we tied a rope to a large branch hanging over the water and would use it as a swinging rope. On occasion with weather conditions permitting we would drop into the water below to cool off.

Once when Forrest, Marty and I were down at the swinging tree we came across an unfortunate porcupine. The pitiable creature was not able to travel fast or climb high enough to escape our curious and tortuous efforts to chase, prod, study, and capture. I believe we were between the ages of 9 -12 and thought this interesting creature was our prize to be exploited. Although we had never before encountered one of these interesting mammals, we were naturally careful and seemed to understand the requisite nature of maintaining some distance. Our inquisitive nature caused this porcupine to climb out on a limb of our swinging tree until he was out over the water. A rake was secured from home and Forrest climbed up the tree and followed the newest object of our nature studies and by using the rake he forced it out onto the furthest reaches of the tree limbs until our victim was obliged to drop into the creek. This was a triumphant moment for we now thought it was possible to corral him and force him into a wire cage which had also been obtained for the occasion. Having accomplished his design to get the porcupine out of the tree, Forrest threw down the rake and started to come back down the tree. Meanwhile, the porcupine was not at all happy in the water and as quickly as a porcupine can he scrambled back up the bank of the creek and headed for the nearest tree which happened to be the same tree he was just forced out of. When Forrest looked around behind him, to see where he was going, he found the porcupine coming right up the same tree and then out on the same branch where he had been before and where Forrest was currently attempting to descend. Now Forrest was without the rake or anything else with which to keep distance between himself and the porcupine seeking to escape harassment from Marty and I at the base of the tree.  Forrest saw the distance closing and was then the one being compelled to give ground or in this case give tree trunk then branches until he retreated out to the slightest of limbs and twigs on the branch. There were other trees in the area and numerous other branches on this tree but the porcupine seemed to seek out and as if on a mission of retribution, he chose the same branch where he had been before. The next thing to come out of the tree and hit the water was Forrest.

After additional wildlife harassment and wrangling, the porcupine was caged and used as a quill harvesting venue; which quills had some market among fellow curious students at school. The quill business was ended a couple of days later when the porcupine mysteriously managed to “get away”. There is no doubt that Dad was an accessory to the escape. This was not the only time wildlife was aided in achieving freedom after being captivated by one of us boys.

Fast Offerings were contributions given by church members, usually associated with the once a month Fast by members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which Fast was abstaining from food and water for a couple of meals or 24 hours and then contributing an offering to help provide for the needy and poor. In turn, those who received assistance were asked to contribute their time and talents to provide some kind of service to others. This provided a source of assistance where needed and was able to be allocated by the Ward Bishop without the receivers feeling like they were “On Welfare”.  Young men who were ordained to the Aaronic or preparatory Priesthood were assigned a group of homes to visit to receive fast contributions. Usually the fast offerings were gathered by car and the young men could be driven by a parent or an older priesthood holder. On some fast days when the climate was favorable the gatherers could walk or ride their bicycles. A couple of times I saddled our horse Chester and rode around to some neighbors to get in a little horse riding while completing my Fast Offering assignment. Horse Riding was not a regular Sabbath activity but I rationalized it must be appropriate as long as I was engaged in Church business.

Another time Forrest had a close encounter with wild life was on a Sunday afternoon when he was out doing his duty, as an emissary for the Bishop, gathering Fast Offerings. His route consisted of several homes within a couple of miles from home and he was walking along a mostly gravel and dusty road we called the Powerline road. One part of this road had a surface consisting of 2” to 4” cobblestones which were partially buried and made for a bumpy ride while driving over it and an unstable surface while walking over it. During his trek he looked up ahead and saw a badger come out into the open and continue down the road away from him. Not wanting this varmint or what he now considered his prey to get away from him, Forrest looked about and found a large rock and ran up behind this badger and lifting the rock over his head and then exerting considerable energy he cast it down on the badgers head. What happened next was not expected nor was Forrest prepared for it. The badger reversed his course seemingly turning himself around inside his loose hide and came directly on a frontal attack, charging Forrest as fast as a badger with a headache and a score to settle can lope. With the roles of prey and predator now reversed and Forrest freshly unarmed, he attempted a quick retreat. Stepping backwards as fast as he could in his startled state and trying to keep his eyes on the aggressor, he caught the heal of a shoe on the uneven surface of the road and found himself on his backside and on the same level as a fast approaching snarling badger; which had an attitude of reprisal. With this ferocious beast hissing and exposing his teeth now at his feet and Forrest on his back the only thing to be done was a hasty crab-walk backwards while keeping his eyes on the badger. In the moments that followed the badger gained considerable ground closing the distance between itself and Forrest’s crotch. It seemed for a terrifying instant being eaten alive starting with his “essentials” was an imminent possibility. Making use of every possible muscle to keep from being eaten and without a doubt sending a petition for help toward Heaven, Forrest kept up his crab-walk as quickly as he could flee and then when defeat seemed imminent, the badger broke off his pursuit. After a seemingly safe distance was achieved, Forrest gained his upright position and keeping a respectable distance he gathered up his Fast Offering envelopes and then leaving the badger to his own business, Forrest carried on. Now breathing a little easier but still shaken by this close encounter with humiliation and death he finished his route while counting his blessings.