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BUFFALO DOG |
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 Uncle Evan stands at the top of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. © David Muenker |
Uncle Evan turned toward them. "Sure, Tom, I always have time for you. Where are you from, Sonya?
"The Colorado Rocky Mountains."
"Ah, not too far from Mesa Verde and Yellowstone."
"Yes, sir." Sonya beamed.
"Jump into this elevator and we'll ride to the top. The wind on the cliff is really strong, so stay on the path. I don't want the wind to blow you over the edge!"
At the top, gusts of wind made Sonya's ears stand out like propellers. Uncle Evan stood at the edge of the cliff and looked out over the wide valley. Then he turned and pointed to the plains behind them. He started telling them about the buffalo hunt.
"Our people built piles of rocks, called cairns, to create lanes, like a giant funnel. The wide part of the funnel was far out on the plains where the buffaloes grazed. The funnel narrowed to a point right here at the edge of the cliff."
"So the funnel was like an upside down triangle?" Tom asked.
"And the piles of rocks formed two sides of the triangle? " Sonya added.
Uncle Evan grinned. "Yes, you've got the picture."
"The buffalo runners moved behind the herd," he continued. "They wore buffalo hides so the animals wouldn't notice them."
 Sonya inches out to the edge of a replica of a buffalo jump cliff. © 2006 Ravay Snow |
"They carried buffalo horns. They put pieces of grass in the horns and lit them."
"Like grandfather does with his pipe?" Tom asked.
Uncle Evan nodded. "When buffaloes smelled the burning grass, they thought it was a prairie fire. They got scared and began running. When the other buffaloes saw them running, they ran, too."
"The piles of rocks made the space they were running in get narrower and narrower, crowding the animals together. Soon there was a great stampede."
"All of the buffaloes got scared just because a couple of them started running?" Tom asked.
"Yes. That happens to people, too." Uncle Evan replied.
"And dogs, too," Sonya added. "When one dog starts barking, we all do."
"The stampeding buffaloes ran so fast that when they got to the edge of the cliff, they couldn't stop."
"They tumbled over the edge like a brown waterfall!" Sonya said, remembering the elder's story. Uncle Evan smiled.
 After the hunt, the tribe held a great feast in a tipi village like this one. © David Muenker |
"Afterwards, the tribe had a great feast and dancing to celebrate the successful hunt. Then they spent many days drying the meat and tanning the hides."
"It was a lot of work, but everyone was happy. There was enough meat to last through the cold winter. In those days, there weren't grocery stores."
"Where did they buy dog food?" Sonya asked with a worried look.
"Dogs were very important to the tribe," Uncle Evan answered. "They pulled the tipis from one camp to another on a travois. That's a type of sled made of tipi poles. The dogs were fed meaty buffalo bones for their hard work."
Sonya smacked her lips.
"It's time for me to go to the Pow Wow," Uncle Evan said. "You can find out more at story telling hour on the first floor. Just follow the buffalo hoof prints down the ramps." He waved good-bye.
They followed the huge hoof prints painted on the floor.
Sonya gazed up and saw three huge stuffed buffaloes standing on the edge of a pretend cliff. She inched up alongside them and peered over the edge. She could see people three floors below.
"Wow, that's a long way down. That's scary!"
"Come on, Sonya!" Tom called. "Story telling starts right now."
Sonya backed away from the edge very carefully. Then she dashed down the ramp after her Blackfoot friend.
Note: This story is fiction based on fact.
Go to Sonya's Picks for links to websites about the sights and wildlife of this World Heritage Site.
Test your understanding of words used in this story with the Word Match game.
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Photographs ©2005-2010 David Muenker. Text ©2005-2010 Rose Muenker. Illustrations ©2005-2010 Ravay Snow Any use without express written permission is illegal and punishable by law. All rights reserved. Site designed and developed by Josh Bergman. |
