The Dragon's View
By Wendy Beye
Everyone knows that a dragon lives forever. That’s a long time, and my memory is a little fuzzy about my life before the last ice age here on Big Wall. Snippets from 75 million years ago, give or take, bring to mind hot humid days, with beasts as large as I lumbering along the shores of a sea. I cowered with my mother in a cave several days’ trek west of here through a cataclysm that wiped out nearly all other animals about 65 million years ago. How I survived, I don’t remember. The sea disappeared, replaced by plains, and then the cold millennia began. I struck out on my own, heading east and downhill to find warmer shelter. Ice came and went many times, and I hibernated for thousands of years, coming out to eat and blow a little fire during the warmer periods. I saw large woolly creatures with prehensile trunks and huge tusks, sleek furred felines with teeth as long as my front foot, canines with strong jaws for crushing bones, and hoofed beasts with spreading horns for fending off predators. All of them, with the exception of a fleet-footed ungulate with black forward-curving horns, disappeared when at last the ice retreated for good.
About that time, around 10,000 years ago, I began seeing a few strange-looking animals that trotted upright on their hind legs. (Not to be confused with the long-legged cranes with a red forelock that hung around here for more than two million years.) I later found out they were called humans, and they hunted the smaller four-legged animals that now populated my haunts. I kept my distance, as they seemed to be fierce and quite successful in their hunting endeavors. Occasionally, a band of them would gather near my home on Big Wall, sheltering in the rock crevices close to where I lay barely daring to breathe for fear my smoke would give me away. There were forests around Big Wall then, and lots of rain to make everything green and beautiful in spring, summer and early fall. The snow was deep in the winter, forcing many animals, including me, to hibernate or migrate south during the cold months.
Another seven or eight thousand years passed in the blink of an eye. The weather grew warmer and drier, and the forests nearly disappeared, replaced by tall grasses. Summer lightning storms ignited fires, and from the safety of my rocky perch I would watch flames roar by on the wind. After a freshening rain, the grass would come back greener than ever. Huge herds of hooved animals grazed on the lush growth, leaving churned soil and dung behind them as they moved on in search of a fresh food supply. I enjoyed spring and summer days, lolling in the sun to listen to birds and watch all sorts of small animals making a living on the prairie surrounding Big Wall.
Every spring humans would pass through, following the herds of shaggy brown beasts that grazed on the nutritious grasses. I heard through the animal grapevine that sometimes the humans would prepare a trap to kill many of these large creatures known as tatanka. The tribe would use an autumn fire to create a tempting spring grassland to lure tatanka into a selected area. Once the animals were in the right place, the Lakota would sneak up on one side of the herd, disguised as tatanka calves, then jump up, yell, and wave their arms. The frightened animals would run, channeled by more Lakota standing on the outside of a gantlet defined by piles of rocks until the stampede plunged over the edge of a butte. That sounded to me like a dangerous way to gather food, and the word was that some tribe members would be trampled during each attempt to spring a trap. The humans would work for days to cut up the dead animals, drying the meat and saving hides, bones and sinew for later use.
My memory of more recent years here on Big Wall is clearer. About 150 years ago, I saw a human who was not like a member of any of the wandering tribes that had passed my way. I assume he was male, and he sat astride an animal that I later heard called a horse. Another horse followed him, loaded with a big bundle. He carried a long shiny stick across his lap. I’m not sure where he was going, but he disappeared toward the snowy mountains that lay west of here.
A few more years passed, and I saw fewer hunting tribes, fewer tatanka, and more of the new humans with horses. They eventually brought some other animals with them that they seemed to control. There were bands of short, white, wooly animals that bleated, and larger bawling hoofed animals with long curving horns. They passed by like the tatanka had once done, chewing the grass, churning the soil, and leaving their dung behind. One terrible winter with there was blizzard after blizzard until deep snow covered all the grass on the prairie. When spring came and the snow melted, there were dead animals everywhere -- plenty of food for scavengers, but the air was filled with the stench of death. After that year, I noticed that humans began building places to live by cutting trees and stacking them up to make walls. They put up fences made of wire strung on posts and kept their animals close to their homes. In some places they cut the grass and piled it up to save it for the animals in the winter; in others they broke up the grassland and planted grain that grew tall. They planted little gardens by their houses, watering the plants by hauling buckets from the salty trickles that ran down gullies in the prairie. Again, to me, it looked like a difficult way to gather food. I grew weary just watching them work.
The weather changed and there were many years when there wasn’t enough rain to make the hay meadows and grain fields produce. The green grass that used to grow every spring was replaced by tough weeds, cactus, and bare patches of soil. Wind would whip the dirt into great clouds that blocked the sun for days. I had to travel farther and farther at night to find food. Even the small animals that used to live in the tall grass started to disappear. Many of the humans who had built houses left, too, when dirt and tumbleweeds clogged the fences they had strung across the prairie. They tried so hard to survive. Their animals ate the grass right down to the dirt, and what was left was consumed by millions of grasshoppers. They planted grain, but it either didn’t sprout in the dry soil, or was eaten by those hungry grasshoppers that poison couldn’t deter. The land was looking pretty grim in my opinion.
Finally, there was just one family that stayed on the land near my home in Big Wall. I used to see them herding their animals here and there, trying to find enough grass to keep them going. I noticed that after a while some of the grass was beginning to come back, maybe because the rancher kept his small herd of cows moving frequently, or maybe because more rain and snow finally fell to water the thirsty earth. The animals and birds that had disappeared during the years of drought began to come around again. There were fat sage grouse, melodic meadowlarks, skittish prairie dogs, foxes and coyotes. Those fleet-footed black-horned ungulates that the settlers called pronghorn were back, though in smaller herds this time around. As a dragon, I tend to stay close to home, but one little bird that called himself a pipit said that he spent his winters many thousands of miles south of here on the narrow bridge between this continent and the one to the south. I have to admit he leads an interesting, if short, life.
It seems like just yesterday that some newcomers named Milton bought the ranch, and eventually moved into the house that was only a stone’s throw from Big Wall. The Milton family worked just as hard as their predecessors to get by on the land. In no time at all, there were youngsters poking around in my rocks. My ears really pricked up when I heard them repeating stories about “the Big Wall dragon!” Apparently their dad knew all about me, though I don’t recall meeting him, and some of his stories were downright outlandish. Still, it made me puff out my chest to be so famous after all these years on earth. I hope the children will remember those stories, and pass them on down the line into the future. Then, unless some knight in shining armor comes along to slay me, I’ll enjoy two kinds of immortality. Of course, I’d prefer to stick around and see what the next few million years bring to my domain.
About that time, around 10,000 years ago, I began seeing a few strange-looking animals that trotted upright on their hind legs. (Not to be confused with the long-legged cranes with a red forelock that hung around here for more than two million years.) I later found out they were called humans, and they hunted the smaller four-legged animals that now populated my haunts. I kept my distance, as they seemed to be fierce and quite successful in their hunting endeavors. Occasionally, a band of them would gather near my home on Big Wall, sheltering in the rock crevices close to where I lay barely daring to breathe for fear my smoke would give me away. There were forests around Big Wall then, and lots of rain to make everything green and beautiful in spring, summer and early fall. The snow was deep in the winter, forcing many animals, including me, to hibernate or migrate south during the cold months.
Another seven or eight thousand years passed in the blink of an eye. The weather grew warmer and drier, and the forests nearly disappeared, replaced by tall grasses. Summer lightning storms ignited fires, and from the safety of my rocky perch I would watch flames roar by on the wind. After a freshening rain, the grass would come back greener than ever. Huge herds of hooved animals grazed on the lush growth, leaving churned soil and dung behind them as they moved on in search of a fresh food supply. I enjoyed spring and summer days, lolling in the sun to listen to birds and watch all sorts of small animals making a living on the prairie surrounding Big Wall.
Every spring humans would pass through, following the herds of shaggy brown beasts that grazed on the nutritious grasses. I heard through the animal grapevine that sometimes the humans would prepare a trap to kill many of these large creatures known as tatanka. The tribe would use an autumn fire to create a tempting spring grassland to lure tatanka into a selected area. Once the animals were in the right place, the Lakota would sneak up on one side of the herd, disguised as tatanka calves, then jump up, yell, and wave their arms. The frightened animals would run, channeled by more Lakota standing on the outside of a gantlet defined by piles of rocks until the stampede plunged over the edge of a butte. That sounded to me like a dangerous way to gather food, and the word was that some tribe members would be trampled during each attempt to spring a trap. The humans would work for days to cut up the dead animals, drying the meat and saving hides, bones and sinew for later use.
My memory of more recent years here on Big Wall is clearer. About 150 years ago, I saw a human who was not like a member of any of the wandering tribes that had passed my way. I assume he was male, and he sat astride an animal that I later heard called a horse. Another horse followed him, loaded with a big bundle. He carried a long shiny stick across his lap. I’m not sure where he was going, but he disappeared toward the snowy mountains that lay west of here.
A few more years passed, and I saw fewer hunting tribes, fewer tatanka, and more of the new humans with horses. They eventually brought some other animals with them that they seemed to control. There were bands of short, white, wooly animals that bleated, and larger bawling hoofed animals with long curving horns. They passed by like the tatanka had once done, chewing the grass, churning the soil, and leaving their dung behind. One terrible winter with there was blizzard after blizzard until deep snow covered all the grass on the prairie. When spring came and the snow melted, there were dead animals everywhere -- plenty of food for scavengers, but the air was filled with the stench of death. After that year, I noticed that humans began building places to live by cutting trees and stacking them up to make walls. They put up fences made of wire strung on posts and kept their animals close to their homes. In some places they cut the grass and piled it up to save it for the animals in the winter; in others they broke up the grassland and planted grain that grew tall. They planted little gardens by their houses, watering the plants by hauling buckets from the salty trickles that ran down gullies in the prairie. Again, to me, it looked like a difficult way to gather food. I grew weary just watching them work.
The weather changed and there were many years when there wasn’t enough rain to make the hay meadows and grain fields produce. The green grass that used to grow every spring was replaced by tough weeds, cactus, and bare patches of soil. Wind would whip the dirt into great clouds that blocked the sun for days. I had to travel farther and farther at night to find food. Even the small animals that used to live in the tall grass started to disappear. Many of the humans who had built houses left, too, when dirt and tumbleweeds clogged the fences they had strung across the prairie. They tried so hard to survive. Their animals ate the grass right down to the dirt, and what was left was consumed by millions of grasshoppers. They planted grain, but it either didn’t sprout in the dry soil, or was eaten by those hungry grasshoppers that poison couldn’t deter. The land was looking pretty grim in my opinion.
Finally, there was just one family that stayed on the land near my home in Big Wall. I used to see them herding their animals here and there, trying to find enough grass to keep them going. I noticed that after a while some of the grass was beginning to come back, maybe because the rancher kept his small herd of cows moving frequently, or maybe because more rain and snow finally fell to water the thirsty earth. The animals and birds that had disappeared during the years of drought began to come around again. There were fat sage grouse, melodic meadowlarks, skittish prairie dogs, foxes and coyotes. Those fleet-footed black-horned ungulates that the settlers called pronghorn were back, though in smaller herds this time around. As a dragon, I tend to stay close to home, but one little bird that called himself a pipit said that he spent his winters many thousands of miles south of here on the narrow bridge between this continent and the one to the south. I have to admit he leads an interesting, if short, life.
It seems like just yesterday that some newcomers named Milton bought the ranch, and eventually moved into the house that was only a stone’s throw from Big Wall. The Milton family worked just as hard as their predecessors to get by on the land. In no time at all, there were youngsters poking around in my rocks. My ears really pricked up when I heard them repeating stories about “the Big Wall dragon!” Apparently their dad knew all about me, though I don’t recall meeting him, and some of his stories were downright outlandish. Still, it made me puff out my chest to be so famous after all these years on earth. I hope the children will remember those stories, and pass them on down the line into the future. Then, unless some knight in shining armor comes along to slay me, I’ll enjoy two kinds of immortality. Of course, I’d prefer to stick around and see what the next few million years bring to my domain.