Here kitty kitty...

It's been quite a while since they roamed Nebraska, but the sightings are happening almost daily. One was hit and killed by a car up by Omaha--almost 150 pounds and six foot long. That's pretty mighty. In fact, there have been several sightings on the west edge of Omaha and in the Gretna area. That's not surprising because the Mighty Platte, The Mighty Missouri, and the somewhat Mighty Elkhorn rivers all come together in this part of Nebraska.

There are tons of deer and the wild turkey population has exploded. There is a little flock of turkeys roaming my brother John's neighborhood and have even been so bold as to come up and look through the windows while we were having Thanksgiving dinner. Can you imagine?

Up until now, most of the really wild, wildlife has been up around Omaha. Or sure, there was that moose who wandered clear across Nebraska one year. Lots of farmers got their 15 minutes of fame as the wandering moose stopped to graze and have a little chat with the cows. Some farmers claimed to have chatted with the moose but they were written off as part of the crowd that sampled the ethanol too much. The moose, stout of heart, and determined to star in "Mr. Moose Goes to Washington" swam, swum(?) err moose-paddled his way across the Missouri only to be shot by a gun toting Iowa bonehead with a big number 3 painted on his pickup.

There have been other events--an elk here and there and the tansplanting of some mountain goats in the Scottsbluff area--but this is different. These guys are killers.

Some rumors have been spreading that Nebraska Game and Parks introduced them to kill off some of the big deer herd but that can't be right. There are plenty of guys willing to shoot them and pay to do so. But, here they are, or so people say they are.

Now I must admit, I was into Santa once upon a time. But over the years, I have become much harder to convince. I have a touch of Missouri "show me" in me these days.

They can move like shadows through the dense brush like I run along. It's just like the picture and at any minute, from almost any direction, they can come at you and leap at you like a big Linebacker. (Osborn era one.)

So you can imagine what I thought as I jogged along on my favorite trail, at the usual old goat speed, in the dusk of the day, alone, and there he was. For a second, I froze. But then my inner cowboy voice hollored out..."NO NO keep amovin er ur a gonner. Scare 'em sum."

This was a much bigger deal than mutated bunnies. This one had teeth and claws and was powerful and as much, and more, part of the West than I ever was. You need to rely on training here. And that's why I am glad I go for movies like Jeremiah Johnson instead of A Big Fat Greek Wedding. I needed to puff up like that old mountian man coot, Johnson's crazy friend. He was dressed in buffalo robes and a coonskin cap. I was close in my black Adidas running stuff. I started to prance and hollor like a crazy white man in Injun country. Hell, there wasn't an Indian within five casinos of me right now.

He still just stared. Wherever I went. He just stared. Expressionless. He didn't look like he was licking his chops.

I jumped and puffed up like one of the TV Survivor babes trying to get away with telling the truth.

No effect. Not a sound. He just stared.

I could feel the heat of his stare. My heart was already pounding from the jog so that wasn't an issue.

What was he thinking? Had he battled with man before? Had he eaten old goat before?

I knew this wasn't going to end the way I wanted it to end. I needed more information and a better look at him and I was in my running gear. I didn't have the two quarters to put into that newspaper dispenser and get that paper with his picture and story on the front page..

For now, all I could do is look at the picture through the glass.

"Mountain Lions in Lincoln?" Sounded like a good story to me.

"C'mon bunnies, let's roll.