We had had the social night on Wednesday, rather than the night before the event (because the groom's buds were pretty hard drinkers). This meant everyone spent Thursday being hungover and limited the boozing (altho a few hardcore partyers still went nuts).
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So Thursday night, we're back at the farm and winding down at 10 or so. All of a sudden, our dog Rufus is on the back deck of the house and whimpering. Like, a very unusual sound from him. So I open the door to the deck to ask him what's up. And then I hear the growl...
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It's coming from the north edge of the house, below the deck and about 6-7 yards away. So I grab Rufus by the collar and yell to my sister to grab me Dad's spotlight. I point it to the spot of the sound, and feral yellow eyes look back at me (also, fwiw they just seemed cocky).
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I proceed to lose my shit. I know of neighbors that had lost dogs to cats, and Rufus is my boy. So I pass him off to sis and run into Dad's bedroom for his gun cabinet. I grab his M1 Carbine and head out the front door. He wakes up as I screamed "Mountain Lion! Gonna get it!"
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So I run to the middle of the yard, below the one big light. I want to keep my distance and flank this SOB. I shine the light to the house and see him/her slinking away. I've got a shot, but the cat is right in front of an antique threshing machine that Dad had restored. No go.
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At this point, my always logical mother comes out the front door and yells at me to come back inside. When I demur, she says (and I quote): "You're gonna get your arm ripped off and ruin your sister's wedding."
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My measured response was, "Mom, I am a trained GODDAM Infantry officer and I can handle a cougar!" Yes, friends, this exchange literally happened. Verbatim. Welcome to my family.
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While we have this intelligent discourse, the cat has moved further down the ditch. So I jump into the beat up F250 and head down our 150yd driveway (it's a big farm). I spot him at the edge of a treeline, then he heads in.
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I come flying up and jump out of the door. And I get to the edge of the woods before the insanity of my actions kicks in. Heading into a wooded area, by myself, at night, to chase a full-grown cougar? Nein. So I headed back & put Rufus into his doghouse for safety.
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I didn't get that bugger, but he never got my dog either. The next week Dad found tracks in the creek, and they were big. And that's my cougar story. A bit anticlimactic, but be warned that a bottle of Ketel One & bag of cheddar Poppables were harmed while telling this story.pic.twitter.com/1mPMleXq2d
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Thank you. I feel like we were all gathered around a Twitter campfire, roasting marshmallows while you told us about your adventure. And there were cougars growling in the distance.
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