“Waterhole” [Facebook post from 01-16-2014]

It’s dusk, darkening quickly, and the herds are gathering at the local waterhole.  This is an important time in the lives of each separate herd and individual as well as for the entire ecology and biosphere.  Here is where most mating rituals begin (or end), where customs and traditions are passed on, where new information is passed along, where evolution continues.

Along one bank a group of young gazelles timidly approach, the does preening for the bucks who are jostling one another for the best vantage point to show off.  Nearby a group of old bulls sip casually while keeping watchful, wary eyes on the lurking predators, and secretly lusting in old memories.  Occasionally they snort in derision at the youthful antics.  Now and then a cow interrupts them all, bellowing her distaste of the overall foolishness.

As darkness descends, the process plays itself out.  A ready doe breaks from her sisters to claim a buck who believes he has claimed her.  The cow drives off one or two of the bulls.  Other herds have grown boisterous, creating a cacophony of unsuspecting ease.  Here and there sparring bucks draw crowds of rowdy hangers-on.  A pair of does scream briefly at one another.

Suddenly the muddied water explodes, and a monstrous ‘gator launches itself into the throat of a buck who has stumbled too deeply into the pool.  The herd recoils, backing thunderously away from the violence as the reptile thrashes from side to side and eventually rolls the buck to deeper, quickly reddening water that slowly calms once again.

The herds stay for a time, seeming to forget but learning all the same, returning to the rituals of survival.  They can’t waste time, for too soon they will hear,

“Last call,” and the bartender makes them pay up, grab their purses and coats, and head out the door.

DrDan

01/16/14