Walking home one night (dark, with a slim moon) I heard, from my left, a meow. It wasn’t the pleading mew of a hungry kitten, nor was it the guttural yowl of a cat in distress. It was staccato - Hey! You! - a distinct and pointed request for my attention, like a name shouted across a crowded bar. When I looked, I saw a longish haired blonde-orange cat - small, but definitely full grown - perched on a tree stump at the front edge of Lannan Park. She jumped down and came over to me. She did not saunter my way or tip toe with curiosity; she had a direct approach and an air of familiarity. She purred along my legs, nudged my hands to be pet, and rolled in the gravel, talking all the while as if she had been waiting all evening to give me the news. I immediately obliged to her demands. I was fascinated with her weirdly human-seeming confidence, and as a newcomer to Marfa, I was highly aware that I was on her turf.
There have been subsequent sightings of this cat, who my partner and I have come to refer to as Chicken. Chicken has followed us on walks for such a comically long time that we assumed she might just come on into the house, though she always scampers off at some point like she forgot a pot of water on the stove. She is extremely affectionate and chatty, but she’s also got her own thing going on; she ain’t waiting around for anyone. She’s simply spectacular. I am not sure if Chicken has an owner. I’m guessing she does. But I’m also realizing that the relationship with animals is just…different here than it is in other places. For one thing, there are a lot of them - pets, critters, strays, and livestock. The question of who owns who is somewhat beside the point, and the lines between domesticated and wild are sometimes quite blurred.
To expand, some other examples: two burros, a mother and her foal, cross Pinto Canyon Road in front of the car. Who knows if they’re wild, or escaped from their ranch? The gorgeous cat at the Water Stop who’s missing a couple teeth and loves to beg for food (she was recently picked up by someone who believed her to be a stray, then returned to her loving owner who does feed her plenty). The young cow I heard about somewhere between Marfa and Alpine who a local couple told me enjoys being groomed through the fence with a dog brush. The fox that occupies the run-down Victorian house at the edge of the Chinati property who I spotted curled up cozily on the eave of the otherwise caved-in roof. The three hummingbirds who visit the feeder on our porch approximately four hundred times a day and who seem really huffy if it happens to ever be empty. And, the subjects of a great many posts on Marfa Group: lost and found dogs, with or without collars, often recognized and returned, other times not, sometimes inspiring a wistfulness (Oh, he’s so sweet, he looks just like one I used to have…) or a rallying cry (Let’s get her home!).
I moved to Marfa from Los Angeles, where the relationship with animals exists in extremes of possession and danger. Designer dogs are toted in handbags, while the coyotes howling in the hills at dusk cause shudders and scorn. One animal in particular experienced both ends of this spectrum, often at the same time. P-22 was the name given to a lone mountain lion who lived in Griffith Park and was captured by scientists and fitted with a radio collar in 2012. Against all odds and logic, P-22 had crossed multiple six-lane freeways and the Santa Monica Mountains to live out his life in a space that was woefully ill-suited to him, surrounded by a human community that loved and feared him, frantically and in equal measure. He was captured and euthanized in 2022, after a spate of chihuahua attacks. The week after he was put down, a fitness center in my neighborhood plastered their exterior wall with a mural of his face and the words “Peace, Love, P-22”. I was struck by the tension that arose when a wild animal was treated like a local celebrity. He was a pet and a menace, treated more like a symbol than a being - an unwitting and mistreated mascot.
I spoke with a West Texas local who has cared for, raised, and rehabilitated a number of wild animals. She told me about raising orphaned raccoons, how she can tell if a bird is depressed, and the complex social structure of javelina. I asked her what it was about wild animals that was so special to her. She said, “Why should you coddle your pet and allow the destruction of native animals? It should be more like a gestalt, in which everything gets consideration and care.” She had learned to take these animals on their own terms. These relationships were not about ownership - they were a way of, in her words, “living more symbiotically in the world.”
When I think of Chicken, and all the other animals I’ve encountered and heard about in and around Marfa, I see the countervailing forces of willful independence and communal care playing out in a completely different way than I’m used to - more symbiotically. Animals are given leeway to be their animal selves. In a city or a suburb, the illusion of the world as a man-made, self-centered place is easily maintained when wild animals are pushed to the margins of perception and only a narrow few highly domesticated species are allowed in. Out here, though, the reality of our interconnectedness (and our free will) is far more present and evident. Chicken, or whatever her real name is, and all the other wandering, roaming, slithering, stalking, howling, bleating animals in this town - they’re all a welcome reminder that we are here, together.
Caló
Matanza - Órale, the next few episodes of Caló will be dedicated to the ritual of the matanza. It’s Spanish for the killing or slaughter of an animal for its meat. The term is well-known up and down the Rio Grande. Matanzas are celebratory and collective acts associated with important social events, like weddings. They’re led by maestros whose knowledge of the ritual is passed down from generation to generation. Matanzas are celebrated in a wide spectrum of ways. Some communities deliver the coup de grace with a firearm. Others do it with an heirloom knife. Some places, women dominate the ritual. In other places, the men do. Some matanzas are completed in a matter of hours, while others take days to run their course. The crowd that gathers also makes a difference in a matanza.
Caló is a borderland dialect. You can find more episodes here.
Other recent programming:
In the oil fields of the Permian Basin, there is growing concern over the dangers legacy oil wells pose - especially as more leaks and other problems are discovered. One ranch owner has set out on a multi-year crusade, assembling a dedicated team of allies to investigate decrepit, decaying wells and to challenge some of the largest oil companies in an attempt to hold them accountable for these forgotten wells. Mitch Borden takes us out to Crane County to look at what's being discovered at the Antina Cattle Company.
If you search for stock images of the desert, you'll find countless versions of a single scene: sand dunes. Our region certainly has its dune fields, but dunes are only a tiny portion of the Chihuahuan Desert. And, yet, they do embody an essential truth. More than mountains, mesas or canyons, they distill the desert’s defining phenomenon: drought. Hear more about the science of sand dunes in this nature notes episode.
High Five
For our animal-themed dispatch, here’s five songs inspired by Marfa's wild ones:
1) The Puppy Song - Harry Nilsson
2) The Rabbit, the Bat, & the Reindeer - Dr Dog
3) Cats in a Bowl - Dinosaur Jr
4) Horses In My Dreams - PJ Harvey
5) Sombre Reptiles - Brian Eno
You can find archived From the Porch shows and all of our music programming on our Mixcloud.
PSAs
The Permian Basin Adult Literacy Center’s annual Readathon is running now through September 30.
The event brings groups together to enhance their reading skills while helping support the Center’s mission to improve lives through literacy.
Registration is open for individuals, teams, and families.
For more information or to register online, visit PBALC.org.
If you have PSAs you want on the air or in this newsletter, head to www.marfapublicradio.org/psa.
