It is said that there is always a simple solution for the toughest problems. The only problem with that is that it is almost always wrong.

I got a lot of advise on what to do when the Turkey Vultures are chased out of the Southgate neighborhood by loud music and flashing lights, or are relocated to my property by functionaries of the Department of Agriculture.

That is essentially the solution that got Manuel Noriega out of the Papal Legation building in Panama City during Operation JUST CAUSE.

The PSYOPS guys from the 4TH POG set up speakers outside the building and played various requests from a 95-song playlist to drive the bantam dictator nuts. The Marines asked for “Welcome to the Jungle,” the canine handlers requested Billy Idol’s “Flesh for Fantasy,” and the Special Forces wanted the Door’s “Strange Days.” Other calls were for patriotic songs like Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” and hard rock songs like “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister.

(Field mod: PSYOPS speakers on a GPK turret shield. Photo US Army).

Other favorites included titles intended to soften the mind, and encourage Noreiga to surrender:  “Born to Run,” “Bring Down the Hammer,” “Dancing in the Streets,” “Hang ‘Em High,” “I Fought the Law and the Law Won,” “Judgment Day,” “Nowhere to Run,” “Run Like Hell,” “The Party’s Over,” “They’re Coming to Take Me Away,”

(The smelly but elegant Culpeper variant of the Turkey Vulture. Photo Culpeper Clarion-Bugle.)

I don’t know if that line-up will intimidate the ornery birds- which term, by
the way, is a bit of a misnomer. My SoCal attorney offered the learned opinion that the birds are a necessary part of the food chain, are basically gentle, and with exception of that vomiting-and-carrion-thing, are very elegant. Linda-of-Many-Children opined that things were just more sensible at her hacienda south of the border- the Mexicans currently have their hands full with other matters.

That is undoubtedly true, but under the terms of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918, it is illegal to kill this species in the United States.

As an alternative to PSYOPS, my pal Pete wrote from Tidewater to suggest the purchase of a 55-gallon oil can, petroleum distillates and repeated bursts of gunfire (limited strictly to the property) on the assumption that the Southern manners of my neighbors would preclude intrusion on my property to investigate a purely routine matter of semi-automatic gunfire.

It is a drastic step, I know, and I am inclined to honor international treaty and go with something less kinetic.

The Russians next door kindly offered the services of Biscuit, the Wonder Dog, as a countermeasure to offensive avian invasion. I think that is a matter that bears further investigation, and along that line I got a surprisingly
exhaustive treatise from my pal Boats, the retired USCG Master Chief Bosun’s Mate.

As a life-long resident of Cajun Nation, he put the Southern Context on rural pest management, tempered by the provisions of the 1918 Treaty, and informed by canine biology. He said:

“Should the turkey vultures decide to attempt to colonize Refuge Farm we Cajuns (who likewise suffer greatly from federal interference in local environmental issues) have a sure-fired cure that I propose to modify here in for semi-absentee small farm/large estate owners.

Here it is, get a dog, really excitable “yappy” dog prone to chasing. OK, but don’t stop reading there is more to it than that. The more it looks like the nearly extinct red wolf of the Southern Atlantic Coastal and Gulf Coastal plains, or its successor the coyote the better, (and they are very similar in size and shape, differing mostly in color) but don’t don’t go below 35 pounds or you’re just feeding the damn vultures, not sending them off to some less “patrolled place.”

There are plenty of these mutts around, picture a German Shepard shrunk down to a 35 to 50 pounds. These are found around the world where feral dog packs are found. They are called “the “universal mongrel.”

(Universal mongrel, meaning no disrespect. Photo SPCA).

Given about ten generations of feral dogs of any breed this is what you wind up with, a coyote like animal that is slightly more omnivorous than a coyote, less people shy, more cooperative, and communicative within the pack and with any humans that will engage them. After about 20 generations of being feral these dogs not only take on that pointed ear, alert but smaller, lighter shape of the German Shepherd, they begin to take on a more uniform coat, of light brown color.

When we look at the universal mongrel we are probably looking at the actual animal that first domesticated man. No, I don’t have that in reverse, science actually believes that the dog approached man by coming close to the camp fire looking for scraps and not fleeing very far or with much alacrity when our ancestors started throwing stones at them.

When daylight came the dogs would follow the hunters to try and share in the remains of the kill. Sometimes they would actually try to lead the men to the game. That pattern was repeated until man learned to let the dog lead the hunt and then help in the kill bringing down much larger protein-rich kills and learning to share with the dogs to insure their continued services.

Anyone who doesn’t believe this has simply had some kind of urban upbringing and never really lived with real country “hunting dogs.”

At my Uncle Mel’s place the “Circle M,” a cattle ranch in what was in my childhood the deeply rural part of St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana several dogs stayed in a large dog house about 50 yards from the house. They were a handy intrusion alarm barking at any strangers who drove up the half-mile lane from Old Military Road across the lower portion of the property. However they never really bothered visitors, they didn’t leave the doghouse area, they weren’t that attached to the human house. In this sense they were alarm, not watch dogs.

These dogs fully expected my Uncle, Aunt, or one their five boys to appear at the door before the car, or rarely horseback or pedestrian visitor reached the house. If the visitor was not identifiable to the humans in the house, the residents would go inside and reappear with the duty shotgun.”

But that would be the topic of tomorrow’s essay on Southern manners, and how they apply to life down on The Farm, even if we are up to our asses in vultures. It is much more straightforward there than it is in Arlington.

Copyright 2012 Boats and Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com