Halftime was over. We started circling and growling again, it was clear that we were both near full strength again. The badger held a renewed look of hatred in his eyes. It was not the look of a defensive animal. He looked at me as though he understood my intentions and had accepted the kill or be killed terms of the game we were now playing. And I am sure that he believed, just as well as I did, that he would prevail.
I went for his throat again. This time though I led in with my left hand held high and open coming over the badger, and as he would take a snap up at my left hand, I would then take a stab at his neck with my right. I tried this several times without taking a stab, just to get the timing down. I found that if I came in high and fast enough I could even bop him on top of the head. This infuriated him. He was now determined to have my hand. Now with the timing down, and the planned-out-motion of my right hand practiced in my mind, I came in yet again with my left hand from above, and as the badger went up for it I sent the full length of the blade into his neck. Blood spilled out onto the ground as the badger shot back and let out gargled growls. He was now fatally wounded.
I had mixed feelings as I stepped back and dropped to a knee. I felt relieved that it was over, felt proud that I had taken a badger with a pocket knife, and at the same time, felt remorse for taking the life of this creature. I watched and listened to his gurgled breaths slow, his eyes drifting shut. I watched the pool of blood grow slowly, drying quickly into the dirt in the dry, hot breeze. I quietly gave the badger my respects, wiped my brow, and stood to my feet. At these movements, the badger opened his eyes and mustered up a bit of a growl, his head still resting on the dirt. I decided to walk back to the truck, look for my Leatherman, and let the badger pass in peace.
There was no sign of the Leatherman tool, and I had to get back to work. I completed some weather data for the survey while I was at the truck, then walked back over to where the badger lay. He appeared lifeless until I was within a few feet, then he repeated the show of dazed eyes and meager growls. I decided to let him be until I had completed the 1 hour eagle survey, and so I walked on up to the survey point several hundred yards up the hill at the base of the meteorological tower.
The survey started uneventfully, with several northern harriers cruising the fields and a pair of Swainson’s hawks circling high overhead, as I listened to the sound of the farmers tractor rise and fall with the hills and dips off in the distance. Then, I got a call from the project manager who had been contacted by Ridgeline Energy about a disgruntled landowner. She asked about where I had driven the truck and what exactly was said between the landowner and myself regarding the truck, and I answered in detail, while scanning the sky for eagles. The interrogation was closing and I thought I had made it through without having to mention the badger. Maybe the landowner neglected to mention the badger to Ridgeline, he certainly didn’t seem to have any contention about the badger fight, it was the truck that he was pissed about. Then just as we were about to end the call, she asked, and what was this about a badger? I confessed with the least amount of detail possible. She sounded surprised and even a bit amused. She explained that it was going to have to be included in the incident report. What could I say, but yes, I understand. We wrapped up the call, and I finished the survey. No eagles.
I started back down the hill toward the truck and badger pondering my future as I came to realize I was going to lose my job. Just as I was nearing where the badger lay, something out in the open wheat stubblefield caught my eye. It was another badger! About 80 yards off it lay on top of a fresh mound of dirt, watching me. I continued over to where I left the wounded badger, only to find a pile dried blood and no sign of the badger. I looked back over to the badger sitting on top of the dirt pile, still watching me. Could that be the same badger? I started toward it, lifting my binoculars once I had halved the distance to it. Sure enough, the dirt on his chin and neck was tinged red. He looked at me as if pleased by the disbelief showing on my face. I dropped my binoculars and continued towards the badger. He kept that even expression on his face even as I closed in, no defensive snarl, no worry, just satisfaction. Then just I got close he whipped around and shot down into the hole on there other side of the massive dirt mound. I peered in to see only dirt flying out from under his short tail deep within the ground. I couldn’t believe it! This badger was on his death bed an hour ago, and now he was half way to China! I had no desire to try and go after him at this point. The tractor was going to appear over the hill any minute, and this badger was not going to die.
I walked back to the truck and the fight-seen. Still in disbelief, I walked over to the sizable pool of dried blood and knelt down to feel it, and then I recalled all that had just passed that morning. The knife blade must have passed through the base of his tongue, cutting a massive bed of vessels, but no major arteries. I shook my head and walked back to the truck. I had lost the fight with the badger, but I had gained what I was really after, which wasn’t his hide, bones, or meat, it was the opportunity to really get to know an animal such as the badger. To discover first hand what is really behind the reputation of this tenacious little beast, to uncover his weakness, and in the end, to walk away marveling at the toughness of the badger.
