Page 50 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Everyone trying to do fun activities without risking getting sick.”

“Except this new crop doesn’t seem to understand they’re in a national park. They’re still acting like they have Disney’s minions to clean up after them, and that a bison is merely a cuddly human in a suit.”

I shook my head. Humans.

We went back to enjoying the beauty of the park as we drove through the Blacktail Plateau, past the turnoff to Tower Falls, and down into the Lamar Valley. A stretch of grassland lay before us, sunlit under the cerulean sky. Puffs of wind made golden stalks dance, a rippling effect poised for the opening strains of Fanfare for the Common Man. Black smudges in the distant landscape took on the shape of massive bison, while deer edged closer to the forest. With a few additions from an earlier time—Native tipis, a wagon train in the far distance—the valley could serve as inspiration for a Charles Russell painting.

“When we get close to the bison, can we stop for a moment?” I asked. “I’m not going to be able to get much with the phone, but I can get something.”

“Sure thing.”

Fortunately, there was a spot to pull off near the heard. Interspersed with the shaggy dark brown shapes, small reddish calves explored and played, a couple of young males butting heads with each other. One was with his mother at the edge of the pack. I got out of the car and slowly moved closer, but stopped well beyond the twenty-five yards the rules of the park required. Bison could move deceptively fast, and this mom already had her eye on me.

As I was returning to the car, a door slammed behind me. I turned and watched as a thin man with a bushy beard, a little girl in his arms, climbed the bank toward the herd. His wife trailed behind him, shoulders hunched and her brow knitted in concern.

“Don’t get too close,” the wife said, her words coming out like a misused bow across violin strings.

“Amy says she wants to pet the baby,” Dad said. “It’s little. It will be fine. We’ve seen people go right up to the big ones with no problem.”

Was he nuts?

Joe came up behind me.

“Did he say what I though he said?” Joe asked.

“Yep.”

I scanned the area. No official vehicles.

We looked at each other and moved in the direction of the man and his daughter, getting far closer to the herd than I wanted to be.

“Sir,” Joe said, his voice calm and friendly. “I can see by your license plate you’re from Pennsylvania. I’ve heard that’s a pretty state.”

“Sure is.” The man smiled at me. “Not as majestic as all this, but pretty.”

“But not a lot of bison,” Joe said.

“Only in the zoo. It’s great to see them out here in the wild.”

“Sure is,” Joe acknowledged.

The man took a step closer.

“The thing is,” Joe said. “There aren’t any bars here. Or moats. Or anything to keep a wild animal from harming you … or your family. You’ve got to be respectful. These guys? They may look harmless right now, but they can move quickly and they’re pretty agile.”

“My daughter wants to pet that cute little red calf. And what my daughter wants, my daughter gets. Don’t you, sweetie?” He smooched his daughter on the cheek, and she giggled.

“Hon,” the wife said, “I think what this man is trying to tell you is not to get too close. It isn’t a good idea to let her pet the calf. It’s dangerous.”

“Nah. We’ll be fine.”

I’d been keeping an eye on the bison mom whose gaze flitted between her calf and the two-legged intruders. She shifted her feet and snorted.

“We need to move back,” I said. “She’s getting restless.”

“We’ll be quick.” He took another step closer.

The bison lifted her head and snorted.

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