Typical Sunday Night Supper, Untypical Company

Typical Sunday Night Supper, Untypical Company

July, 2017

It is Sunday evening, and we are winding and twisting our way down the Rockies. The scenery is beyond words, and beyond the camera, and my ability to use either. One stretch of road was a 55 mph limit. Ron went the limit, but only because the jake brake was on. Otherwise we’d have sailed over the edge. You hardly ever see runaway truck ramps anymore, but on this stretch there were two within a mile. Whooee. Who needs a rollercoaster? I have the Trucker.

On either side of the road, mountains rise up steeply. They are covered with evergreen-type trees. Two westbound lanes hug the side of the mountain. On our left, there is a drop of varying depth, sometimes bare, sometimes tree covered. At the bottom of this drop, two lanes run eastward. Another drop, and a clear mountain stream runs along the road. And sometimes, to our right, higher up the mountain, is a railroad track, running on a ledge cut into the face of the rock. At times, the track runs under a roof jutting out from the mountainside, built there to protect the tracks and trains from avalanches.

BUT, I had the most delightful experience an hour or so back, at a rest area on the Montana/Idaho border. While Ron checked the truck, I headed for the rest room, but got sidetracked. Between the sidewalk and the trees was a narrow lawn. And under the trees and on the lawn were prairie dogs! I never before saw them in real life. These were so accustomed to people that they were going about the business of being prairie dogs, oblivious to the constant flow of travelers. For everyone but me, the feeling was mutual. I scurried back to the truck, and retrieved leftover popcorn, an apple, and a paring knife.

Sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, I tossed a few experimental grains of popcorn onto the lawn. Immediately they were snatched by the dogs, who sat up on their haunches to eat, holding the grains in their front paws. Closer and closer they came, until the larger ones were eating out of my hand. Word spread, and whole families arrived, from the Grumpy Grandpas to the Tiny Tots. The only sound heard was the occasional squeal when paws connected to different dogs wanted the same kernel.

Then I took my knife and began dicing the apple into tiny cubes. This took longer than throwing out popcorn, and by now I had an audience. But did they ever love that apple! Most sat back and waited for apple pieces to land near them, but a few climbed right into my lap, sat upright, and reached with their tiny forepaws for the next piece. I was a bit worried about being nipped by those sharp teeth, but decided I have a current tetanus shot, and not to forego this awesome experience over that concern. However, I did stand up after a while; I didn’t want those soft little paws to grab onto my knife blade.

The apple ended about the same time as Ron’s check of the truck, so I eased away. He said that the little rodents followed me to the sidewalk, and sat watching forlornly as I crossed the parking lot.

At times we have seen prairie dogs peeking out of their holes along the road as we drive, but the slightest shadow and they are gone. They were larger than what we saw today. These must have had their burrows in the ground under the trees. When we came, they were searching out tree seeds and other tidbits from the grass. These adults were about the size of month old kittens, and the babies less than half that. It was a temptation to reach out and pet them, but I didn’t want them to feel threatened and react defensively, which would have been painful on my part.

In the time it took to write this, we have done another climb, the truck struggling to maintain 30 mph. Now there is another downhill. This time, the road is a narrow channel with rocky cliffs rising on both sides. We are hoping the sun soon goes further down quickly to allow the mountains to shade us. In Whitefish, Montana, it was 95 degrees. Here it is 86, and by now it is 5:30pm west coast time.