Prairie Groupings

With apologies to Linda at Linda’s Writing Blog for carrying this to ludicrity. 😉

A bevy of buffaloes made its way across the fenceless prairie, followed by a flock of aboriginal hunters dreaming of sizzling steaks. In the wings, a murder of crows settled on the buckbrush bushes that grew in the coulie. A file of coyotes trotted along the coulie as well, awaiting the aftermath of the natives’ nefarious plans.

Overhead an assassination of vultures circled, hoping the hunt would provide them with a few feasts as well. Should the hunt fail, the vultures, opportunists rather than fussy eaters, might still be left a trampled coyote or two.

Ahead of the buffalo a cluster of startled grouse flew up, propelling their plump bodies toward the coulie. Before they could recover from their sharp-tailed flight a couple of the birds met a sad fate at the paws of the wily lead coyote. Life on the prairie tended to be short for meaty birds.

Slowly the hunters advanced and the buffalo moved ever closer to the ravine ahead. Near the lip of the ravine an amazement of other natives had concealed themselves in the sagebrush. The plan was stellar. As the buffalo approached the ravine, this group would spring out at the side of the herd, making a cacophony of noise. Fenced off from flight on one side, hopefully some of the startled buffalo would dash over the lip of the ravine, where a dispatch of men with spears would finish off any survivors.

The animals, quickly attacked by a clan of carvers, would be transformed into strips of meat to be pounded and smoked by a web of women. This meat would provide the natives with food for another winter. Buffalo hides would become blankets. A scrabble of miscellaneous wild creatures would scrap over whatever remained when the natives were done.

As the moon rose over the ravine that night, a smudge of smoke rose toward the stars. Fifteen beasts from the bevy had hurtled over the precipice; buffalo meat had filled the tribal tummies and the rest was curing over the fires. The hunters, old and young, sat in a circle visiting. A herd of youngsters played “hunters and buffalo” while the mothers sang softly to dozing infants.

Writing prompts for today:
Ragtag Community :  HERD
Fandango’s challenge : FENCE
Word of the Day :  STELLAR

A Man She’s Not Keen On

Deer heads

TROPHIES
by Edgar Guest

There’s a moose head in the hall,
and a dead fish on the wall,
a stuffed owl on the mantelpiece,
and birds in a shining case.
There’s an antlered deer upstairs,
and a mounted fox which shares
with a partridge prone at its wily feet
a nice mahogany base.

There’s a maid each morn who must
go round the rooms to dust,
and day by day on her weary face,
there is ever a dismal scowl.
And this is the song she sings:
“Dead deers are dreadful things!
And I hate fish on a shining board
and the wings of a mounted owl!
Fish mounted

“Oh, if ever a man I wed,
may he care for books instead
of moose and mountain goats and deer
and ducks in a glassy dome.
May his hobby be postage stamps
instead of the Northern camps.
For I’ve had my fill of dusting things
which a hunting man brings home.”

Owl head

From his book, Collected Verse of Edgar A Guest
© 1934 by The Reilly & Lee Company

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My response to RAGTAG prompt word for today: KEEN