I must be out of my mind. Looking about me in all directions is a heavily forested area of trees and underbrush. And, I in the middle of it, carrying a double-barreled shotgun, searching for God knows what.
Butch had sensed something out here. Something which sent him into uncontrollable fits of panic. That's strange, because Butch doesn't scare easily.
Butch is my pet pig-tailed monkey. He comes from the family of the rock apes. Although he is a descendant of a fierce breed of monkeys, there has been something out here in the woods that has been scaring him half to death for some time now. He began getting restless several weeks ago, and he's been getting more upset everyday.
Today was the last straw. Butch completely fell apart. It took me a long time to calm him down enough to leave him alone in his cage in the shed. Then I walked back to the house and went to where our gun cabinet was located. I picked out a double barreled shotgun and loaded it. I also slipped a few extra shells into my pocket -- just in case.
Now, what ever sunlight there was being blocked or diffused by the dense foliage which grew heavily over the whole area. I gingerly picked my way though the tangled underbrush. Thorns and brambles tore at my clothes and the ground snapped and popped under my feet as I stepped on small twigs and tree branches.
"I would never make a good Indian," I thought, with a shake of my head.
Suddenly, I stood frozen in my tracks as I heard the shrill of an animal, possibly a wild cat of some kind. It was not far away, either. Could this be the animal that Butch sniffed in the wind?
Cautiously, I worked my way toward the sound. Making sure for the fifth time that there was a shell in the chamber of the shotgun, I eased up to where I heard the scream of the animal. It must have caught my scent or else just heard the noise I was making, because it bounded off almost at once. I never even got a glimpse of it and it was gone.
I picked my way though the tangled underbrush, straining my ears for any foreign or unfamiliar sound. And again I heard a sound that stopped me dead in my tracks. This time it wasn't the scream of a wild cat. It was much worse than that. I had stumbled upon a nest of rattlesnakes. There were three of them, coiled and ready to strike.
The rattles on their tails were shaking almost as violently as my knees, and I thought they were going to strike me at any moment. Sweat was running down my face, sting my eyes. For a second I couldn't move. Then, slowly, very slowly, I stepped backward until I was far enough away from the snakes to breathe easier.
At a safe distance away, I stopped and gave my heart time to stop racing away with me. I didn't know if I could continue on. Then I thought of Butch. My hairy little buddy was counting on me to make it safe for him again. So, reluctantly I had to keep going.
I was not quite a mile into the woods when I came upon a large water tank. I had been here before. It was a good fishing hole filled with catfish and black bass. On an exceptionally hot day I was even known to go for a refreshing swim. It was approximately 15 feet deep in the middle and it took almost an acre of land.
While I stood at the edge of the clearing, I noticed a tiny fawn that had just come out of the trees. It's mother was right behind it. They were thirsty and the tank was a good watering hole for them as well as for other animals.
I have a soft spot in my heart for baby animals. And so I stood there quietly as mother and baby serenely walked to the water's edge and got a drink. That fawn was the cutest thing. Tiny spots covered its body to help camouflage it from predators. While the mother deer stood guard, the little one stuck its muzzle into the water and began to drink. It was a peaceful scene.
Then suddenly, it wasn't. Death erupted from the water in the form of a six-foot alligator. With the speed of a bolt of lightening, huge sharp teeth attached themselves to the head of the fawn and the little deer was jerked off its feet into the water.
The doe made horrible noises and screams, but to no avail. The tiny fawn was dragged into the deeper water where the alligator pulled it beneath the surface and drowned it. Moments later, the water turned red with blood.
The mother deer was running up and down the bank, but there was nothing she could do. In an instant, her baby was violently taken away from her for ever.
Then I was out of the trees, yelling and running down to the tank as fast as I could. The doe spotted me and bounded off through the forest. A blind rage such as I seldom experience shook me from head to foot. I fired blindly into the water several times where the beast went under, but I'm sure I never scored a hit.
I stood next to the water, looking for signs of the alligator to come back up so I could blow it away with the shotgun. As I waited my thought turned to the National Geographic on television. I remember seeing on many occasions, Monkeys of all kinds going down to the water to drink. Suddenly, alligators, that had been patiently lurking in wait for these unwary animals would come out of the water with the speed of thought and clamp down on the arm or leg of an unfortunate monkey and drag it into the deep water where the allegator drowned it and then ate it. So I had finally seen the creature that Butch was frightened to death of, and I didn't blame him one bit.
After the initial shock wore off, I began asking myself a few questions. How in the hell did a six-foot allegator get in the tank to begin with? I hadn't heard of any reports of an allegator being seen in Granbury. I wondered if some kid had raised it as a pet until it got too big to keep and then let it go in the tank. It's happened before.
I continued to watch for any sign of the creature to break the surface of the water, but it didn't -- or maybe it did and I just didn't see it. It was getting dark and the shadows were getting long.
Once I thought I saw its ugly scaly head sticking out of the water, his yellow green eyes angrily glaring at me. I immediately fired the gun at it only to realize a moment later that it was just my imagination. In another 30-minutes it would be too dark to see anything. I had no desire to be alone out there after dark. Fifteen minutes later I was back home and on the phone calling Parks and Wildlife. They were closed, but I gave the answering service my name and phone number.
It wasn't long before a representative called me back. I told him my story and he promised to be out in the morning with a crew to capture the allegator. He was exceptionally happy to know that I hadn't killed it.
As good as his word, he and his crew of four were at our house the next morning with a large net. He also had a long rod with a noose at th one end of it. I led them to the tank. Upon arriving they scanned the water for signs of the allegator. Suddenly one of the men hollered that he had spotted the animal. I guess nerves were still on edge, for when he hollered, I thought the allegator had got him.
I stepped back out of the way as they began to systematically flush th gator out of the deep water. I ;had to hand it to them. They were skilled and highly professional about their business. Once they had the creature cornered, they tossed a heavy net over it.
It thrashed and splashed and twisted and turned, trying to escape the net as they drew it toward the bank. Then they wrestled it to the shore where they securely taped its feet, tail and mouth. They had a tarpaulin ready which they used to transport the gator back to their truck. That was it!. They secured it in the truck, thanked me for calling them and drove off with the creature.
Gator scent was still heavy in the air. It would be days before Butch was his normal self again. In the days that followed, I would often watch Butch and would remember the tiny fawn that wasn't as fortunate as my hairy little buddy.
And finally, although I knew it was absolutely safe, still, no matter how hard I tried, I could never bring myself to ever swim in the alligator tank again.
Duce is the penname of Carman J.W. Vance at the Crest Yard in Fort Worth.
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