All language subtitles for 2sjhqhjsdksk;c,nvnb

the Mississippi river
and the Rocky mountains

roughly divide the continent
into three parts.

Before civilization
made its mark on the land,

all the territory
east of the great river

was virgin forest
and rolling meadow.

West of the rockies
lay pine woods,

rugged peaks,
and barren desert.

And down the middle
of the continent

stretched a broad,
treeless plain,

the American prairie.

Through all this vast area

flowed a network
of streams and rivers,

making it an immense
grassland,

green and flourishing.

On this sea of grass

the pioneers launched their
white-topped prairie
schooners.

Their destination was Oregon,
and the route they followed

took them across the entire
width of the trackless plain.

Under broad, blue skies,

they pushed off toward
the far horizon

into the great unknown.

It was an incredible journey

where distances were measured
in months instead of miles.

Now and again, a timeless
landmark would rise abruptly

to break the monotony
of the prairie scene.

Such was courthouse rock.

Against the evening sky,

the silhouette of chimney rock
was unmistakable.

But between
the scattered guideposts,

there was always the prairie

days of prairie.

Weeks of prairie.

Then after two months
of weary travel,

Scotts Bluff,
500 miles from home.

Yet the journey
was just beginning.

The sight of a prairie river
cutting through the grassland

was always a welcome relief.

Here the pioneer
and his trail-worn oxen

refreshed themselves
in the silvery waters.

A thousand miles out
stood independence rock.

This was the halfway mark --

The point of no return.

Another in the long succession
of milestones was Devil's
Gate.

Beyond,
the continental divide.

And beyond that,
Oregon and journey's end.

Here and there, deep-grooved
in the face of the prairie,

some of the old wagon trails
still remain

to mark the passing of an era.

But long before the wagon
trains rolled west

toward the setting sun,

it was the Red man who claimed
this vast domain as his own.

To him it was a land of
plenty.

And in his primitive way,
he kept a record

of the abundance
nature gave him.

He tells of tatanka,
the buffalo,

who roamed the prairie
in numbers beyond counting,

providing hides for his tepee,

meat for his campfire,
sinew for his bow.

And of the fleet tahincha
sandla, the antelope.

And kichiwaboose,
the rabbit.

He speaks of the little dog
who barks, the prairie dog,

his friend and neighbor.

And there was a legion of
others, furred and feathered.

Some the Indian held in awe
and reverence,

and some he hunted to survive.

For this was his paradise
to use as he chose --

His happy hunting ground
created on earth.

But all this
was only yesterday.

There was an earlier time,

a time without record
or remembrance,

when nature alone held dominion
over the prairie realm.

Of the teeming millions
of wild creatures

that thrived in that bygone day,

only a few scattered remnants survive.

Still, it's enough for us
to gain a glimpse of the past

and, for a little while
in this true-life adventure,

recreate the wondrous pageant
that was nature's prairie.

It's a day in early spring.

And high above the grassland
along the ancient flyways,

the home-coming birds
wheel and turn

in a processional of the sky.

[ squawks ]

Some of these migratory birds
will merely pause here

on their way to
the Arctic tundra.

Others will stay over
for the season

and make the prairie marsh
their nesting grounds.

[ chirping ]

The ducks are among
the first to arrive.

With careless grace
they swoop down

for a routine landing
on the placid waters,

but soon find this is a trip
that ends in slip.

These early birds
were a little too early.

Most of the ponds are thawed,
however,

and latecomers make
a more dignified arrival.

To these marshes come fowl
of every description.

Wild geese, many species of ducks,

cranes, grebes, and swans

all join in a light-hearted
hubbub of gossip and chatter.

Once the greetings are over,
the birds begin to regroup

and pair off for the spring courtships.

Each species follows its own
peculiar mating ritual.

But year in, year out,

the weird wooing of the western grebes

is always an outstanding
performance.

When the time comes for homemaking,

the red-necked grebe
builds a floating nest

with the pond as a protective moat.

This year, as usual,
the grebes face a predicament.

Since hatching occurs
at odd intervals,

they have the double problem
of incubating their eggs

and feeding their chicks
at the same time.

Still, they have a system.

They simply divide
their duties.

And while mother
sits on the nest,

father takes care
of the food supply.

Or sometimes it's vice versa.

At the home
of the pied-billed grebes,

it's father who's presiding

over the unhatched half
of the family.

Like most males, he's rather
careless about domestic chores

and wanders off with an egg

still clamped
in his chest feathers.

Well, that's typical.

Perhaps if he had to lay these
eggs, he'd be more careful.

Mother makes a hurried check.

One, two, thr--
Oh, here we are.

"I declare, these husbands,

always leaving things
for someone else to pick up."

Among the vanishing species,

the whooping cranes are nearest
to total extinction.

Only a few dozen of these birds
are known to exist.

Contributing to their decline

is the fact that they lay
only one egg a year.

Each mating season,

in keeping with their
physical grace and beauty,

they perform a stately dance.

Their relatives,
the sandhill cranes,

add an extra gesture to
the family dance,

for the male,
in a burst of enthusiasm,

tosses a beakful of twigs
into the air

to express his admiration
for his lady.

For some reason,
this sets her all a-dither,

and soon they're both
walking on air.

[ chirping, drumming ]

When the grouse goes a-wooing,
it's usually early morning,

and his soulful serenade
can be heard from miles
around.

[ chirping, drumming continue ]

This is the male sage grouse.

[ chirping, drumming ]

To create this odd effect,

he expels air from
the chambers on his neck.

[ cooing ]

The trysting place
of the prairie chicken

is called a booming ground,

and he sounds often much
the same manner.

[ cooing ]

and so does the sharptail.

[ cooing ]

The Indian knew the grouse
as mush koudasa,

and in his tribal dances

he imitated these
eccentric rhythms.

The symbol of the vanishing
prairie is the buffalo.

And yet there was a time
within the memory of man

when 60 million and more
grazed on the open range,

literally blackening the
plain.

But with civilization
came a wave of destruction,

and now only
a few remnant bands remain.

But each spring
with the new grass,

there comes a time of hope,

for the grass means
good pasture,

and each season
another generation.

The arrival of a buffalo calf
is always an important event,

another guarantee
that the species will survive.

Instinctively, the cows
seem to understand this,

for their newborn receive
the best of maternal care.

It's an event as old as time,
yet always new --

The mysterious moment of
birth.

And here is the actual drama --

the coming into the world
of a buffalo calf.

This is a time of suspense,

this bringing into being
of a new life,

for the calf is helpless
during the first few seconds.

His fate hinges on his
mother's immediate response

to ancient instincts.

As quickly as possible,

she must remove the membrane
masking his face,

or the calf will suffocate.

Instinctively, she consumes
the tissue for two reasons --

Because there must remain
no vestige

of this scene to attract predators,

and since the tissue
helps induce her milk supply,

it becomes a direct benefit
to her calf.

Next she stimulates
circulation with a vigorous massage.

In these next few seconds
lie the delicate balance

between life and death.

Should the calf live,
he must be healthy and strong,

for the herd will not tolerate
cripples or weaklings.

At last, mother's devotion
has its reward.

Her baby will live.

Now, let's see.

Four legs, two ears, one head.

Why, he's a perfect baby.
No need to worry about him.

Within minutes after his birth,

the youngster begins to shift
for himself.

Like all new babies,
he's born hungry.

But before he can nurse,
he has to stand.

And first he must concentrate

on getting these wobbly legs
under control.

In the process, he discovers

that life has its ups and downs.

He needs lots of encouragement,
and he gets it.

Indeed all the mothers
in the neighborhood

seem anxious to help
a new baby.

A few more wobbles
and he makes it.

But all this effort
has left him

badly in need of nourishment.

He knows by instinct
that he must nurse.

But the question is, "where"?

He begins by attacking
the problem wrong-end, too.

Then he tries the right end
of the wrong mother.

This is downright
discouraging.

Wonder how a fellow
gets his breakfast around here?

Oh, so that's how it's done.

And so with a little
cooperation from mother,

he takes his first meal.

When the calves
are strong enough,

the herd moves on.

As they travel
from river to river,

from waterhole to waterhole,

the buffalo use the same
trails over and over again.

Centuries later,
when man "the invader" came,

these were the indelible
trails

that guided him
in his search for water.

Vanishing, too,
from the prairie scene

are the great herds
of pronghorn antelope

that once made
the grassland their home.

Native to the American plain,

the pronghorn can be found
nowhere else.

Graceful, agile,
fleet of foot,

they can outrun
the fastest horse.

To protect himself

from the relentless advance
of civilization,

the bighorn sheep
literally took to the hills.

And when he deserted his
ancestral range on the
prairie,

he developed an uncanny skill

in adapting himself to
his new home.

The bighorn is a true mountaineer.

Even the lambs
seem to defy gravity

as they scale
the sheerest cliff.

Here in his rocky outpost
on the continental divide,

the bighorn sheep
makes his last stand.

This inaccessible high country
is the final stronghold

of another vanishing species,
the mountain lion.

He plays an unexpected
but legitimate part

in the prairie pageant,

for there was a time
when he roamed

far and wide over the plain.

Now he's the wanderer
of the hills,

never staying long
in any one place.

Sometimes the range
of a single animal

will cover several hundred
square miles.

He has many names --

puma, panther,
catamount, cougar.

But the more common name,
mountain lion,

perhaps fits him best.

In some localities,
he wears the brand of outlaw.

But nature labels no creature
either good or bad.

To her, all are equal

and must be given
an equal chance to survive.

The cat family faces the same
problems as all the others --

Self-preservation
and protection of the young.

The den offers only temporary
shelter to the kittens,

for they're born nomads,

and soon forsake
their birthplace

to follow the mother
on her travels.

The female,
devoted to her young,

rarely leaves them unguarded.

But now and then
she must make a hunting trip

to provide the family
with food.

The mature lion is a marvel
of coordination and power --

200 pounds of sinew and
muscle.

Here is animal grace
unsurpassed.

In spite of her prowess,
however,

the mountain lion
must work hard

at her role of family
provider.

Nothing comes easy,
even for her.

The mountain lion
kills for one reason --

That she and her young
may live.

And a deer passing through
her territory

must reckon with her need.

The deer, sensing this
is dangerous ground,

treads lightly.

The cat always tries to
move in close

so the chase will be short.

Now the deer catches
the scent,

but for a split second
hesitates.

A fatal mistake,

for the lion can close
the final ground

with amazing speed.

To the kittens watching
nearby,

this is an object lesson
in the technique of the hunt.

Someday they must learn to
do this for themselves.

And now that the youngsters

have begun
their training period,

mother will spend
much of her time

schooling them in the art
of survival.

Here she makes them understand
that dinner is waiting

and leads them toward the
kill.

Since mountain lions
have no permanent home,

the family will settle
near the food supply

for as long as it lasts
and then move on.

When all have had their fill,

the mother cat covers
the remainder,

saving it for another meal,

for the lion is by no means
a bloodthirsty marauder.

As long as there's food
at hand,

she will not kill again.

Kittens are kittens,
whatever the kind,

and young mountain lions
have all the usual traits

of the cat family.

Oftentimes during school
hours, mother will call recess

to let them have
their moments of play.

Naturally, one of their
favorite pastimes

is tree climbing.

Mother leaps to the rescue.

But just a shake-up.

No harm done.

Until the kittens
lose their spots,

their badge of babyhood,

mother will continue to fuss
and worry over them.

But the time comes when mother
cuts the apron strings

and the youngsters
are put on their own.

The newfound freedom
often begins with a frolic.

[ frog croaks ]

Actually, they're entering

the most trying period
of their lives,

for they soon discover
that food, any food,

isn't easy to come by.

Like all cats, they have
an inborn distaste for water.

But a fish dinner
isn't to be sneezed at.

So they wade right in.

Luckily, they've picked
the spawning season.

And as the fish work their way
through the shallows,

the young anglers
manage to snag a meal.

In the art of hunting,

these youngsters still have
much to learn.

At this stage of the game,
they'll chase anything,

even a squirrel.

Now, it obviously takes
a good cat

to outclimb a squirrel
on his home grounds.

In fact, it takes much better
cats than these

to even stay in a tree.

Like some tawny ghost,

the mountain lion
patrols her range.

In all the wild,

no other creature moves
with such silent grace.

Her keen sense
of sight and smell

keep her sharply aware
of all that surrounds her.

Now, directly in her path,
a newborn fawn lies hidden.

Sensing his peril,

he knows by instinct
he must lie perfectly still.

And nature has given him
another defense.

His spotted coat
is a natural camouflage

that makes him almost
invisible in the thick foliage.

The lion knows there's
something somewhere nearby.

But as yet,
she can't see it.

She watches
for a telltale stir,

listens
for the slightest sound.

But the fawn stays put.

Finally, the lion decides it
was all a mistake and moves
on.

A puzzle in this game
of life and death

is the fact that the lion
never caught the fawn's scent.

But this is still another way
nature protects her young.

At this age, the fawn
has no scent to give it away.

In nature, breathless moments
and narrow escapes

are all part
of the daily routine.

Sometimes there are
tragic endings.

But just as often
there's a happy reunion,

and danger past
is soon forgotten.

In contrast to the many
footloose animals

that wander far and wide
over the plain,

the prairie dogs
are permanent settlers --

The original homesteaders.

They build whole cities
underground,

and every spot
of newly turned earth

means another family
residence.

Once these subterranean towns
honeycombed the plain

for hundreds of square miles,

and the population was counted
in the millions.

Cousin of the ground squirrel,

these little rodents have
a doglike habit of barking.

[ high-pitched barking ]

Thus, the name prairie dog.

With each family,
the maintenance of
the underground home

is a matter
of constant concern.

They practically
never stop digging

but are forever building new
burrows or repairing old ones.

In their diligence,
there's always a design,

for each project
is carefully planned.

A major item
is the floodproof dike

that surrounds each entrance.

This protective collar of
earth is quite an engineering feat,

where a fellow
has to use his head.

Tamping the dirt firmly
in place

gives it strength
and permanence.

Then there's grass
to be gathered --

Lining for
the underground bedrooms,

for there's no denying

that a prairie dog
loves his comfort.

This is his home
and his haven --

Protection from his enemies,

refuge from the rigors
of winter.

Here his young are born,

and sometimes the nursery
gets a little crowded.

Still, there's always
a quiet corner

where little sleepyheads
can catch their 40 winks.

[ light snoring ]

By this time, however,
most of the youngsters

have heard spring's alarm
clock

and are bubbling over
with animal energy.

About six weeks old now,

they've yet to see
the strange world upstairs,

and they're curious.

The burrow is a maze of
complicated passageways,

intersections,
entrances, and exits.

It practically takes
a prairie-dog road map

to find one's way around.

Hmm. Dead end.

Well, back to the crossroads.

"Hey, mom, which way is up?"

Mother's planned
an outing for today,

so it's everybody upstairs for
the first trip above ground.

All ready?
Let's go!

Gangway!

One side, please.

Oops! Sorry.

[ barking ]

and so out they come

into the bright, new world
of fresh air and sunshine.

Soon it's time
for a picnic lunch,

and what a lunch --

All kinds of new
and exciting flavors.

Actually,
mother's weaned them

in preparation
for this diet of greens,

and they take to it
with gusto.

Suddenly, they make
an incredible discovery.

There are other things in
the world besides prairie
dogs.

A family of cottontails
has moved in next door.

When the new neighbor
has a little trouble
washing his face,

the youngsters
are only too glad to help.

As a rule, the prairie dog
is friendly and peace-loving.

But like all homesteaders,
once he stakes out a claim,

he jealously guards it
against trespassers.

Sometimes it's another
prairie dog

from a nearby colony.

In these skirmishes,

the home guard
is usually victorious.

But there are other
trespassers not so easily discouraged.

And from one day to another,

the prairie dog never knows
who they will be.

Today it's a family
of burrowing owls.

They've moved
into the community

to take over
an abandoned burrow.

Here, in this
ready-made lodging,

they raise their young.

As fledglings,
the owls are still earthbound,

so this becomes
a sort of proving ground

where they spend hours
learning to fly.

Sometimes it's a question
of whether the premises

were truly abandoned
by the original owner.

[ chattering ]

It's the age-old argument

of the homesteaders
versus the claim-jumpers.

[ chattering ]

So far, it's a standoff.

But when mother owl arrives,

the issue is settled
once and for all...

In favor of squatter's rights.

Along with the burrowing owls
comes another intruder --

The rattlesnake.

[ rattling ]

all creatures seem to fear
the rattler instinctively.

And, young as they are,

the owls sense
he's not to be trusted.

[ hooting ]

The birds are relatively safe,
however,

for the snake much prefers
a diet of rodents --

A gopher or perhaps
a baby prairie dog.

It's a wise mother who keeps
a close watch over her brood.

If the reptile moves in
too close,

she tries to head him off.

[ barking ]

[ rattling ]

To protect her young,
she'll face anything.

[ barking ]

Out here in the open, the
rattler is on borrowed time.

He can't stand
too much direct sun.

Soon he's forced to call it
quits and look for shade.

And whenever he moves in,

another prairie dog
is dispossessed.

[ rattling ]

[ rattling continues ]

Favorite prey
of the rattlesnake

is the pocket gopher.

To protect himself,
the little rodent

rarely travels on the surface
of the ground

but feels much safer
when he's dug in.

The young prairie dogs
aren't aware

that he's a chronic worrier

and try to strike up
an acquaintance.

They soon discover
he's decidedly antisocial.

Once the tunnel entrance
is properly plugged,

he's free to go below.

But this time,
he loses his bearings

and blunders into
the prairie-dog tunnel.

"I say, don't remember digging this."

When the tenant
on the floor below

discovers
his roof is leaking dirt,

he starts to tidy up.

"Easy there, partner.
These are private diggings."

It's the unhappy fate
of the prairie dog

to be forever plagued
with just about everything

that walks or flies,
creeps or crawls.

Indeed, he's become
a vanishing species

simply because so many
predators make a career
of pursuing him.

Worst of all
is the black-footed ferret.

A relative of the weasel,

this is another species
fast disappearing

from the american scene.

Nature designed this animal
for hunting underground.

Thus, he's a particular threat
to prairie dogs.

He can follow
the twists and turns

of even the most elaborate
burrow with no trouble at all.

Still, the chase is always
a guessing game

with every crossroad
another dilemma.

Sometimes when the quarry
heads for the attic,

his pursuer decides to look
in the cellar.

And in the confusion,
the frantic ferret
is apt to find himself

right back
where he started from.

Among the prairie dwellers,

the coyote stands out
as a figure familiar to all.

Theirs is a rugged life,
especially for a mother.

Providing food for her young
is a full-time job.

For the pups, the problems of
the hunt are of small concern.

They let mother
do the worrying

while they pass the day
in odd coyote contests

such as "Who can sit on
the ants the longest?"

[ barking ]

of course, all this exercise

leads to bigger and better
appetites,

and mother is continually
forced to redouble

her efforts in the field.

The coyote hunts
mostly small rodents,

including prairie dogs.

It takes some doing,
however,

to break through
their elaborate alarm system.

[ barking and whistling ]

It isn't often that a prairie
dog is taken by surprise.

[ barks ]

These near misses are
an old story to the coyote.

But with all her patience,

she's quick to take advantage
of any opportunity.

And sometimes,
quite by accident,

the badger becomes
her accomplice.

This is the female badger,

and she, too, is a persistent
hunter of prairie dogs.

Powerful in build,
with feet designed for
digging,

she could make short work
of a burrow with one exit.

So the farsighted
prairie dog

always provides his home
with several exits.

While the badger is devoting
her efforts to one hole,

the prairie dog's apt to be
calmly watching from another.

But too much self-confidence
can be dangerous.

Now the coyote's strategy
pays off.

Still, cornering a prairie dog
and catching him

are two different things.

Moreover, the rodent's
razor-sharp teeth

are formidable weapons,

enough to make
even a coyote pause.

He may be small in size,

but there's no limit
to his courage,

especially when it's
a fight for life.

The coyote tries to
outmaneuver him, catch him from behind,

but the wily prairie dog
always faces the danger.

For the coyote, it's just
another one that got away.

All part of the day's work.

Since she always hunts
on a percentage basis --

So many failures
for each success --

The coyote's willing
to take her chances

with just about anything
that comes along.

Given half a start, she'll
even take on a jack rabbit.

Finally, with further pursuit
sheer folly,

the coyote gives up the chase.

But this was one Miss too
many, even for a coyote.

And when she happens
upon an ancient enemy,

she's in a proper mood
for trouble.

Members of the dog family

share an intense dislike
for reptiles.

The coyote's no exception.

She considers the elimination
of a rattlesnake

both a duty and a pleasure.

The snake is quick,

but he can't see movement
directly behind his head.

The coyote keeps darting in,
aiming for the blind spot.

Then one quick, short snap,
and it's over.

Still, there's no use
taking chances,

so she adds a few more nips
and a flip just for good measure.

Meanwhile, the badger's
still hard at work

trying to dig out
that pesky prairie dog.

By this time, she's attracted
quite a group of spectators.

Now it looks like the digging
crew is going to be doubled.

But the newcomer proves to be
a moonstruck male

bent more on romance
than hard work.

One look at this burrowing
beauty is all he needs.

He falls in love
head over heels.

To take her mind off her work,
he invites her for a stroll.

She quickly agrees.

After all, you can dig
for prairie dogs any day.

And now, for the prairie dogs,
comes a rare moment.

Peace and quiet settles over
their home on the range.

It's a time for rejoicing.

[ whistling ]

On the sidelines,

the prairie falcon seems to
have an ear for music.

Or maybe it's an eye
for a meal.

[ whistling continues ]

In any case,
when he takes to the air,

the concert's
automatically over.

"Now it's down the hatch,
everybody.

This bird means business."

On silent wings,
the falcon hovers -- waiting.

And sure enough,
there's always somebody

just a little more curious
than cautious.

"All right, mister,
just try that once more.

The -- oop!"

For the most part,
the prairie dog does a good job

of protecting his home
and family against all comers.

But when he has to contend
with a herd of buffalo,

he's ready to admit
he's at a slight disadvantage.

The buffalo like to wallow
in soft earth.

The pile of dirt around
a prairie-dog burrow

is just made to order.

This bothersome habit not only
flattens his protective dike.

Sometimes it nearly flattens
the prairie dog.

Finally, the prairie dog
loses all patience

and determines to drive
the monsters out by force.

When this fails,
he resorts to a war of words.

[ barking ]

But it's no use.

You just can't insult
a buffalo.

In nature's range wars,

the prairie dog is so often
a contender,

he rarely gets a chance to be
a spectator.

But in midsummer, during
the buffalo mating season,

he has a ringside seat

for the heavyweight battle
of the bulls.

[ bellowing ]

[ bellowing continues ]

Two tons of bone and muscle
meet head-on.

[ snorting and grunting ]

The objective here
is to catch an opponent

on the downhill slant,

then hurl him to the ground
and gore him.

This is the age-old struggle
for survival on an epic scale,

and now nature supplies
a fitting accompaniment.

[ thunder crashing ]

The sound of the summer storm
is the one thing

that strikes terror into
the heart of the buffalo.

Lightning lashes
the parched plain.

The prairie,
like a giant tinderbox,

bursts into roaring flame.

[ crackling ]

In blind panic, a rabbit runs
straight into the wall of fire

and, by some miracle,
emerges singed but safe.

At the prairie-dog colony,

the burrow itself acts
as a natural firebreak.

But there are others
not so fortunate.

For them, there's only one
place of refuge --

A prairie pond.

But wherever nature
sets the spark,

she can always quench
the flame.

Now she opens her floodgates

and drenches the prairie
with a driving cloudburst.

Her remedy is effective
but harsh,

for down the barren slopes,

rivulets begin to broaden
and spread.

The gullies fill
to overflowing.

And soon,
all across the prairie

the deluge rolls on unchecked.

At first, the rains were welcome,

but now they become
another catastrophe.

And yet, as always,
nature endows her creatures

with the ability to meet
any crisis and survive.

In this case, one must simply
know how to swim.

It's an accomplishment
nature gives all her species.

When their life depends on it,

even confirmed landlubbers
manage to keep afloat.

When the rising flood
reaches the prairie-dog town,

it seeks out the burrows
built in the low places.

Then, throughout the colony,

wherever a family
has failed to make a dike,

the water attacks
the unprotected homes.

It's a hard decision to make,
leaving the old homestead,

but they have no choice.

Nature has decreed a change.

They must build their homes
somewhere else.

Some of the diehards
need a lot of convincing.

But eventually,
wetter and wiser,

they strike out
for higher ground.

And so, on nature's prairie,
everything has its place,

even catastrophe
and disaster.

And the raging flood is as
much a part of her mysterious plan

as the wind and the grass

and the howling of the coyotes
at a prairie moon.

[ howling ]

In the high country

that lies along the fringe
of the prairie,

[ cracking ]
a strange sound ricochets
from peak to peak

and signals the last act
in nature's drama.

It's the rutting season
of the bighorn sheep.

[ crack ]

Here on these wintry slopes

occur the strangest
of all mating combats --

The resident rhapsody
of the battering rams.

[ crack echoing ]

[ crack echoing ]

And now from out
of the misty past,

the pendulum of time swings
back again to the present,

where the prairie
of the pioneer and the Indian

lives only on the pages
of history.

But nature's prairie,
in part at least,

still survives.

The buffalo still plods
the primeval plain.

The prairie dog
sleeps in his burrow.

These and many others
have endured,

for nature preserves her own

and teaches them
how to cope with time

and the unaccountable ways
of man.

Mankind, in turn, beginning to
understand nature's pattern,

is helping her to replenish
and rebuild

so that the vanishing pageant
of the past

may become the enduring
pageant of the future.