You can tell a lot about a community by reading letters to the editor of the local paper. In Malibu, the letters are about development, public access to beaches and Darwin. In Montana, they’re about development, public access to rivers, wildlife and Darwin.
Recently, however, letters about wildlife protection versus predation have given way to an ongoing dispute over the death of Marbles, a dog with a history of roaming freely in a rural area. Marbles had been in trouble before but had usually been returned to her owner.
The last time, the neighbor who shot her returned her lifeless body.
Now, there’s an unwritten rule in Montana concerning predation, whether by protected wolves or pet dogs: shoot, shovel and shut up. The neighbor probably wishes now she had heeded that, but thought she was doing the right thing by returning the dog and explaining she shot it because it was menacing her two toddlers playing in front of their house.
The owner reacted in a manner unusual in ranch country, but then she’s a transplant from the east, inclined to preface remarks with, “Where I come from . . .”
Expressing rage over the loss of her pet, and apparently having seriously deep pockets and not enough to do, the owner launched a campaign against “the wanton killing of pets.” She purchased billboard and newspaper advertising and established a Web site, urging prosecution of the offense.
After a news article appeared in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, letters poured in. Every day for months at least three such letters have run, a few siding with the grieving owner. But as more information surfaced, the letters turned about nine to one against the owner’s campaign.
“Stop wasting money on revenge and get over it.” “Adopt another dog but not before you build a sturdy fence.” “The best way to protect your dog is to keep it home.”
Marbles was one and half miles from home, as she had been before, even though a pasture fence separated the adjoining properties. The children were frightened, the mother followed the instinct to protect her children.
Being a transplant myself, though not from the east, I’ve resisted the impulse to weigh in on this. I lived most of my adult life on a ranch, and raised many dogs, children and grandchildren; I can appreciate both sides of the controversy, though not the owner’s way of dealing with her grief.
One of the first things I did when we moved to the ranch was to build a solid fence around the old ranch house, to keep kids and dogs in and wildlife out. We raised cattle dogs that were well trained though their herding and wild instincts (they were related to the Australian dingo) were sometimes in conflict. In those days, our nearest neighbor was at least one and half miles away. Even so, when one of his sheep came through our fence, the dogs were upon it before we could stop them. Unfortunately, sheep go into shock and die in situations where a steer would kick or hook a dog and trot off feeling smug. Our neighbor realized his sheep was the trespasser and the dogs reacted according to their instinct and training
When we moved into a new house farther up the canyon, I built a five-foot chain link fence around the front yard to keep the dogs in. The Border collie immediately jumped out (that’s what they do when they work sheep), and the pointer puppy dug his way out. So we buried chicken wire under the fence, and the pointer tore a hole in the chain link gate. We borrowed electric fence and a collar. That just made the pointer even more determined to crash out. So I can appreciate the frustration of owners who can’t keep their dogs in.
We lost dogs to coyotes, to ground squirrel poison, to cars. The owner of the KOA campground, exactly one and a half miles down the road, shot one heeler in the backside. We were angry over that one, but after we picked the buckshot out of his bum we got over it, understanding the dog was where he shouldn’t have been and that was our fault.
Over the years, packs of dogs (two dogs or more make a pack, capable of behavior a lone dog wouldn’t consider) have come over the hills through the ranch. In the spring, they’re a real threat to newborn foals and my son regularly shoots at them, not to kill, but to dissuade them from coming back. When they get out of range, the Border collie, who still won’t stay inside the fence, chases them the rest of the way off.
It may be that the controversy over Marbles, her penchant for roaming, her death by a mother protecting her children, is as much a clash of cultures as pet protection. Montana, maybe the last outpost of the Old West, is a culture of self-reliance and personal freedom. Lawmakers think long and hard before restricting those freedoms. To carry guns, to have open beer cans in a car, to drive whatever speed takes your fancy on open highways. And to kill predators that threaten your livestock or your children.
Letters about Marbles seem to say that culture is still alive and well in Montana.