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.