Evolution of herding behavior
The story below tells some of my thoughts on the evolutionary origins of herding. It certainly expresses the idea that the origin of herding behavior is NOT "protecting the sheep!" I welcome your comments, and I hope you enjoy it. I call it:
LONG BEFORE BRYNA, ANNIE, AND CASEY
The stars were out, but the moon had not risen yet. There was a very light breeze. Off to her left, down a gentle slope by a small stream was a group of 4 caribou cows and 3 calves. They were all fat from eating well through a remarkably gentle summer, now nearing its end. The breeze was also gentle, but it carried just a hint of bite -- preparation for things to come.
Throughout the region of scattered hemlock, aspen, and meadow, the cows were beginning to group for the long migration south, but this group had not yet joined the others. Among them, one cow with a trace of blood on her leg walked with a shadow of a limp. The pack had followed her and her small band all day.
The cows knew the wolf pack was out there. You could see it in their alert bodies, their tension, and in the way that at least one cow always kept its head up as the others grazed. The calves, now almost as big as their mothers, stayed close; being calves, they seemed less tense, though they weere now too old to show the same playfulness of early summer. No cow seemed more alert than the one with blood on her leg. The band of caribou did not yet know that the lone female had left the rest of the pack, and was circling them downwind, on the gentle slope above them.
The wolf was still young, nearly 4 years old, not yet quite in her prime. She had been the only survivor of her litter. One of five, she was never the biggest, but somehow they had died and she had survived. In her low-ranking status in the pack, she had never come in season, never had a litter. She was subservient to all but each succeeding year's pups. But she was fast. Oh, was she fast, and the rest of the pack knew it. No other member of the pack could touch her if she had even a body length of start. Just a bit longer in the legs, a bit thinner than the others, she covered ground silently in a way the others could not match in any terrain. She had had a lot of practice running away from potential fights. Her coat, nearly all black, hid her well now as she glided, softer than a falling aspen leaf, past the hemlocks on the gentle slope.
Finally, quietly, softly, she was past the band of caribou. Looking back from her hiding spot, she could pick out the injured cow. The wolf knew that the other 4 adults of the pack were waiting down below, lower along the stream where she had left them. The wind blew across the opening, so that the wolf could no longer smell the caribou, but neither could they smell her. She began to creep softly on her belly down the slope. The shrubs, bear grass, British soldier, Indian paintbrush, all barely bent at her passing.
Suddenly, one of the cows was snorted her alert. The others raised their heads, and the calves stopped, watching their mothers. Slowly, they all eased downstream, sensing danger but not entirely sure of the source. For several minutes, for perhaps a hundred yards, in a slow walk that almost seemed like cattle on an afternoon ramble in a sunny pasture, the caribou and the wolf took their stroll, keeping mostly near the stream and always going gently downhill.
Suddenly, perhaps hearing a twig snap or a ptarmigan harrumph grumpily from its hiding spot as the wolf passed too close, the wounded cow bolted. The others flew after her. Their hooves cleared impossible jumps over summer-dried rivulets, avoiding rocks, all but seeing the uneven ground with their feet rather than their eyes. They were running for their lives.
Just as quickly, she jumped up and sprang after them. There was a fierce wild wolfy joy in her face. One cow tried to break away with her calf, but she cut it off. Soon all seven caribou were flying down the stream, unheeding, full of panic in the soft late summer starlight, in a thunder than was an affront to the night's peace. The lone wolf was closing in.
As the stream made a bend around a boulder, a large wolf, perhaps 50 pounds heavier than she was, the alpha of the pack, leapt from cover. He aimed, not for the leading caribou, but straight for the wounded cow, the fourth in line. Within a heartbeat, the other 3 adult wolves swarmed over her, one grabbing the cow by the muzzle, as the others went for her flanks. In less time than it takes a wolf to howl, they were gathered around the cow, their faces covered with blood. The cow's body, still quivering, was losing its life's blood, spurting in ever smaller pulses directly into the stream, where the rear quarters lay. The lone female waited. After the others had eaten -- not their fill, but enough for the moment -- she moved forward. There would be plenty for all tonight and no need to risk a fight. The lone female would eat as the others began their first rest. She would also eat before the pups, just now arriving. They would all stay near the kill for a day or so, until little was left, save the bone fragments that might provide nutritious minerals for the mice, the marmots, and the pikas.
Then they would move, and in a few days, the pack would find another band of caribou or perhaps a wounded moose. She would again begin her slow circle, out ahead and beyond the waiting, hungry pack.
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