Last week, I mentioned an adventure I had with my teenage friends, Charlie, Bob, and Mike Cottrill. If you’ve not read it, go read it first, otherwise reading this is like reading the last chapter in a murder mystery…

When I was a Kid in WV: The Mystery Monster in the Cave Part I

Read it? Good. Now scroll down a bit.

(BTW,  I had many good guesses, but nobody got it.)

So we were miles from home, in a dark, creepy holler (A West Virginia term for “a small valley or basin”, a variation on the word “hollow”)…and our dogs had cornered some mysterious animal that hissed, growled, and smelled like death. We were spooked, to say the least.

As teens, we were fairly uncertain as to what it might be, but close enough to manhood that we eventually egged each other to go see what it was. We were all fairly sure it was a bobcat, lynx, or even a mountain lion, having voiced out opinions to each other, stating just that.

With no firearms with us, our sole means of defense was our hand made and “grubbin’ hoes”, our pocket knives, and our dogs.

So we did what every country boy would do in that situation. We all cut poles about the thickness of a bat handle and as long as we were tall, similar to what Little John used to dump Robin Hood into the stream in the Sherwood Forest:

We eased towards the rock ledge, where the dogs had again cornered whatever was inside. The dogs were feeding off our closer proximity, and increased their frenzied barking. From time to time the dogs would lunge in and engage with The Monster. They would retreat, yelping in pain, and smelling horrid. I cannot stress how awful the smell was.

As we reached the dogs, we yelled encouragement to them (and each other) as we pushed the dogs forward. No we have a wild animal cornered, with out dogs between us and them, and us pushing the dogs in closer. Everything was about to reach a breaking point. One way or another, we were about to find out what it was.

I’m not proud of many of the things I’ve done over the years. Like many bad choices, ignorance and immaturity are to blame on many of them. I blame both on this moment.

We pushed the dogs into the hole.

Being faced with The Monster, up close and personal, the dogs had no choice but to fully engage with it, once and for all. All hell broke loose, dogs baying, yelling, hissing and growls emanating from the small cave…

…..when the dogs each drug out a young, bald-headed bird about the size of a turkey.  Ironic, since they were actually turkey vultures. Once we saw what they were, we eased up. And as soon as we saw the birds forcibly vomiting onto the dogs, we ran. The dogs, seeing us retreating, (and having had enough of the smell, I’m guessing) quickly followed us.

And until we got back home and to some water to wash, so did that horrid smell.

Turkey vultures are the carrion eating birds you see circling locations with dead animals. It has a wingspan of 63–72 in, and weighs up to 5 lbs. Males and females are identical in plumage and in color, with the female typically slightly larger. The body feathers are brownish-black, with some of the wing feathers being silvery-gray beneath and contrasting with the rest of the wing. It has a bald head, and a short, hooked, ivory-colored beak.

The ones we ran across we juveniles, probably pre-flight. They make litttle sound, other than hisses or growls. They vomit (some say projectile) as their sole means of defense, and since they eat only rotting flesh, the odor can be quite bad. Trust me on this one! We did leave these to hop back into their little crevice, and carry on far less eventful lives. We washed the dogs, as well as ourselves in the creek. I’m guessing we killed fish downstream with what we washed off ourselves.

And we didn’t find any sang that day either.
You can read more about turkey vultures here

And a great West Virginia-based article here

Peace,
db