Life on the Wild Side

LifeScapes January 2025

The view from our front porch

We live on 31 wild acres in the southeastern corner of what was once a 2,000-acre ranch. That’s the old fence line you can see in the wintry photo—the original barb wire on that fence was patented in 1875, when Ulysses S. Grant was president. Across the fence to the south is what’s left of the old Flying B ranch. Our nearest neighbors live part of the year in a house on the other side of the hill to the far left, out of sight. (They head north to escape the summer heat.) Two other neighbors live an almost equal distance in the opposite direction, also out of sight. In fact, unless we drive 3 miles to the village for the mail or 14 miles to town for groceries, Bill and I can go for days without seeing another soul—which is fine with us. We moved out to this place (MeadowKnoll is what we call it) to get away from the crowds and traffic. Life out here wouldn’t suit everybody. It suits us.

But if we thought we’d be living out here alone, we would have been wrong. There are, of course, the various (more or less) domesticated creatures that have lived here, in one decade or another. A flock of sheep, a mama Longhorn and her calf, several horses, a donkey, and a big white bull (temporarily). A raucous collection of chickens, ducks, geese, guineas, and peafowl.

And the usual assortment of dogs and cats, of course. We have just one now: Molly, a blue heeler who came to live with us in 2008, is nearly 20 years old. She doesn’t hear very well (that’s okay, neither do we) and she’s almost blind, which means that she can’t go outdoors without an escort. But she’s the most companionable animal companion we’ve ever had—which is saying something, after 30-plus years with multiple dogs and cats.

Molly, enjoying the sun. Unattributed photos are mine.

And then there are the wild friends into whose habitat we have intruded. These adorable baby bunnies, for instance, napping in the shallow burrow beside the dog pen that their mother had scooped out for them.

And this tiny white-tail fawn, curled up in the grassy hummock where his mom had told him to stay and pretend to be napping.

And the coyotes that sing on the hill on a starry night and the armadillo family that blunders haphazardly through the yard, digging as it goes, or the raccoon that pulled half the feathers out of our peacock’s tail. And the little spotted skunk that visited our chicken coop—like this agile showoff, doing his infamous perfumed handstand for the camera. (He sticks it every time.)

If you see this, run in the other direction. Getty, for Texas Monthly

But when these wild friends unexpectedly invite themselves indoors—well, that’s a different story. Very different.