I suppose I drove a lot slower after feeling those scars.

And, I didn’t handle the little guy nearly so roughly, when he tried to leap off the four-wheeler.

Not that he did so often.  He seemed to feel safe where he was, and every once in a while would turn his head to look back at me, as we idled along towards the group of Mama’s and their babies.

I found the group belly deep in runoff water from the last few rains. 

I had heard about what happened next, but never experienced it or seen it firsthand.

But hearing about it doesn’t come close to seeing it, and, feeling it.

Almost as soon as we were within calling distance of the Mama’s, my little one perked up and looked their way. 

He was home; he knew these folks.

He scrambled off the four-wheeler, once we stopped, and looked out across the water to his Mama.

He called out to her.

Almost as one, the group and their babies answered.

They were a couple hundred feet out and they turned and churned the water as they made a McArthur style landing straight towards us.

But two Mama’s stayed where they were.

And one of them was his Mama.

He called, at first imperatively, then winsomely, and, finally, hopelessly.

He ran over to the group that was now ashore, hoping maybe his Mama was there. 

But the group didn’t know him.  They butted him out and away.

There was a kayak nearby, so I launched it and headed the two still out in the water towards the rest. 

Once they got there, my little guy smelled his Mama, and called again. 

But she didn’t acknowledge; she didn’t even look his way.

He ran to her, but she stayed within the group, and each time he got close, the group butted him out.

At last, he wandered off to the side, to a little depression with tall weeds, and, facing in the direction of the group so as not to miss anything, he lay down and curled up into a sad, hungry, and dejected tight little ball.

*****

I looked on, stunned, my heart sobbing, instead of throbbing.

And, then, I realized, we humans aren’t so very different.