We watched the evening eruption of Old Faithful geyser. The next morning the three of us drove the road that goes through Yellowstone National Park.
I drove, Margaret rode shotgun and Brandy, our 12-year-old standard poodle, sat in the back seat.
A few miles outside the park headquarters, the car ahead suddenly stopped. I braked. Then we saw the herd of bison that commandeered the asphalt. I counted over a dozen. The herd split and walked around the car parked ahead. As the bison passed our car–two abreast on each side of our car–they darkened the morning light and one beast bumped the mirror outside the driver’s window.
I looked back to Brandy. No eye contact. He sat rigid. Eyes straight ahead. Head didn’t move. Body frozen.
After the herd passed behind us, we followed the car ahead, driving the 35-mile Park speed limit. About ten miles later a wolf–or a coyote–darted in front of us, crossed the road, ran back into the forest.
Brandy came alive. Crowded the window behind me. Barked. Growled. Barked some more as I drove on.
Goes to prove. If you are a really smart dog, you know to pick on someone your own size.
Photo from Pexels
