I currently reside in the South East quadrant of Calgary, Alberta. Luckily for me I can walk 5 minutes from my door and I'll find myself exploring Fish Creek Provincial Park. It's an amazing park but I seem to find myself here atleast once a week. This week I decided I would explore a new park in Calgary to change things up a bit. I drove west and travelled along the western border of Calgary. Here, Weaselhead road holds as the intersection between the Weaselhead Natural Area and the Tsuu T'ina Nation reserve. I parked my car along the side of the road and hiked in to hopefully find some moose and possibly some bears. Unfortunately I found neither. I managed to get a great shot of a Male Malard among some freshly growing Horse Tail reeds.
Other than that I saw my first Cliff Swallow, however failed to get a good shot. As always, I saw the regulars, Common Goldeneye, American Robin, Tree Swallow, Canada Geese and a few others. What made my day was what happened on my ride home.
As I said earlier, Weaselhead Road intersects the Weaselhead Natural Area, aswell as Calgary in general, with the Tsuu T'ina Nation Reserve. While driving on the road, I had noticed a strong native presence, about 80% of people passing me on the road were Native. I came over a hill and at the top noticed a large Raven atop a dead animal. I quickly pulled over because for me, getting a shot of any animal eating another is amazing. It's nature as some people refuse to believe it. It's watching one life end and another survive.
As I got closer, I realized the deceased was infact a dog, a tan-coloured, medium-sized Pitbull. The dog's stomach had been slip open so that you could see all it's organs. Some were starting to spill out onto the hot gravel shoulder. The raven was perched atop the dog, ripping into the stomach muscle just under the skin, long strands of meat would be pulled off periodically and the bird would tilt its head back and sort of throw the meat down it's throat. As I watched, I thought of an amazing photo opportunity, but it required me to be above the dog instead of below it. I got back into my car and drove past the dog and then pulled over once more and parked. I got out, and while doing so the two ravens and a noisy magpie flew off. Now I was left alone, staring at a ripped open dead dog. This is when I got to be part of something.
As I waited for the birds to come back, an old red Chevy pick-up pulled right up behind my car with maybe a foot between his large chrome bumper and the rear of my car. I stood up and walked towards the truck as a middle-aged Native guy stepped out. As I was doing so, he was stepping down, out of his truck and a simultaneously a green GMC Jimmy pulled infront of my car, and quickly reversed so as to leave about 12-24 inches between my front bumped of my Mazda and the severely scratched and dented rear bumper of the Jimmy. I was boxed in. My little Mazda had nowhere to go which also meant that I had no where to go. The guy walked over to me and in his classic Native American accent said, "Are you O.K.?" It was a much better greeting than what I thought I would gotten, possibly a threat or the classic 'I'm gonna kick your ass.' I replied happily that I was doing fine. He then asked "What are you doing?" To this question I chuckled, I was by myself, on a reserve, taking pictures of a dead dog, how on earth could I answer this question without sounding like a total moron? I told him that I had this idea for this picture, where the dog was being eaten by birds, by scavengers, as cars drove past without a care in the world, as if the dog had been forgotten, as if man's best friend was no more. I tried to make it sound as normal as possible, which by no means did it come across that way. He began to tell me I was disgracing this dog, and that at one point this dog and the dog's spirit had been loved by his people. By not honouring the dog's spirit and allowing it to move on from it's physical body, I was disgracing the dog, his people and the land which I was standing on. He went to the cab of his truck while I considered my options: 1. pee my pants and cry, 2. scream and run away hoping to make it back to Calgary alive, or 3. wait it out and apologize. I decided to stick with option 3.
When he came back from his truck he had a package of tobacco in his right hand. This guy looked like your typical Native-American. He had patchy, straight, dark black facial hare and pale brown skin. He wasn't intimidating, but the situation I found myself in was absolutely terrifying. He began to tell me that he needed to honour the spirit of this dog and that I needed to help. I looked at the tobacco and wondered what on Earth we would do with it. I couldn't roll or smoke a cigarette so I was in trouble if that's what would transpire in the next moments. He opened the package and grabbed a mitful with his right hand. He stood over the dog, completely disregarding the terrible stench which was eminating from the dogs wide open, sun-baked intestines, and said a prayer through a whisper as he crumbled the tobacco above the dog. The tobacco fell on and around the dog and was quickly taken away in the wind. He then did the same thing across the road where he assumed the dog was hit and lost it's life. I wanted to take pictures of this ceremony, of this native ritual but I didn't want to 'disgrace' him or his people any more, so I stood and watched in silence. He placed the tobacco back in this truck and came out with some paper towel. He ripped off two sheets and handed them to me as he insisted "I need your help." We both grabbed two legs of the dog as the flies quickly scattered. I had the front legs and as we lifted it was odd to see how heavy this dog was, possibly because it's spirit was still stuck within. While lifting, we had to attempt to keep the dog's intestines and organs within the dog, some wanted to fall out, but we managed to keep the dog intact and place it into the bed of his truck.
We closed up the tailgate and I then got a lesson in Aboriginal beliefs. He told me about spirits, life as we know it and how 'city people' just don't understand and constantly abuse their land. I listened politely and apologized for anything that I unknowingly did. In the end, we introduced ourselves and he invited me to join him as he laid this dog's spirit to rest in 'the land where no man walks.' To me, as I was still boxed in and scared to death, I declined and told Branson (I hope that's how you spell it) that I had to be home for dinner. Eventually we parted ways and he told me "It's not always time for pictures, sometimes it's time to respect." I don't think I'll forget that, though I live my life with a camera in my hand so it might be hard. But I know that I do have to respect the land that I'm on and act appropriately. In the end of it all, as I drove away back to all my 'city people' friends, I thought that maybe I should have gone with Branson. Maybe I should have ventured out to watch and help this dog's spirit continue on to it's next stage of life. Sadly I did not, possibly for my own safety, possibly to seperate myself from Aboriginal spirituality, whatever it was I think I missed the point that day, and if I could have done it differently I might have. Whatever the case, I'm glad I crossed paths with Branson from the Tsuu T'ina Nation.
Here's the shot of a common raven feasting on what I assume was a disgrace to the land it was perched upon
As I said earlier, Weaselhead Road intersects the Weaselhead Natural Area, aswell as Calgary in general, with the Tsuu T'ina Nation Reserve. While driving on the road, I had noticed a strong native presence, about 80% of people passing me on the road were Native. I came over a hill and at the top noticed a large Raven atop a dead animal. I quickly pulled over because for me, getting a shot of any animal eating another is amazing. It's nature as some people refuse to believe it. It's watching one life end and another survive.
As I got closer, I realized the deceased was infact a dog, a tan-coloured, medium-sized Pitbull. The dog's stomach had been slip open so that you could see all it's organs. Some were starting to spill out onto the hot gravel shoulder. The raven was perched atop the dog, ripping into the stomach muscle just under the skin, long strands of meat would be pulled off periodically and the bird would tilt its head back and sort of throw the meat down it's throat. As I watched, I thought of an amazing photo opportunity, but it required me to be above the dog instead of below it. I got back into my car and drove past the dog and then pulled over once more and parked. I got out, and while doing so the two ravens and a noisy magpie flew off. Now I was left alone, staring at a ripped open dead dog. This is when I got to be part of something.
As I waited for the birds to come back, an old red Chevy pick-up pulled right up behind my car with maybe a foot between his large chrome bumper and the rear of my car. I stood up and walked towards the truck as a middle-aged Native guy stepped out. As I was doing so, he was stepping down, out of his truck and a simultaneously a green GMC Jimmy pulled infront of my car, and quickly reversed so as to leave about 12-24 inches between my front bumped of my Mazda and the severely scratched and dented rear bumper of the Jimmy. I was boxed in. My little Mazda had nowhere to go which also meant that I had no where to go. The guy walked over to me and in his classic Native American accent said, "Are you O.K.?" It was a much better greeting than what I thought I would gotten, possibly a threat or the classic 'I'm gonna kick your ass.' I replied happily that I was doing fine. He then asked "What are you doing?" To this question I chuckled, I was by myself, on a reserve, taking pictures of a dead dog, how on earth could I answer this question without sounding like a total moron? I told him that I had this idea for this picture, where the dog was being eaten by birds, by scavengers, as cars drove past without a care in the world, as if the dog had been forgotten, as if man's best friend was no more. I tried to make it sound as normal as possible, which by no means did it come across that way. He began to tell me I was disgracing this dog, and that at one point this dog and the dog's spirit had been loved by his people. By not honouring the dog's spirit and allowing it to move on from it's physical body, I was disgracing the dog, his people and the land which I was standing on. He went to the cab of his truck while I considered my options: 1. pee my pants and cry, 2. scream and run away hoping to make it back to Calgary alive, or 3. wait it out and apologize. I decided to stick with option 3.
When he came back from his truck he had a package of tobacco in his right hand. This guy looked like your typical Native-American. He had patchy, straight, dark black facial hare and pale brown skin. He wasn't intimidating, but the situation I found myself in was absolutely terrifying. He began to tell me that he needed to honour the spirit of this dog and that I needed to help. I looked at the tobacco and wondered what on Earth we would do with it. I couldn't roll or smoke a cigarette so I was in trouble if that's what would transpire in the next moments. He opened the package and grabbed a mitful with his right hand. He stood over the dog, completely disregarding the terrible stench which was eminating from the dogs wide open, sun-baked intestines, and said a prayer through a whisper as he crumbled the tobacco above the dog. The tobacco fell on and around the dog and was quickly taken away in the wind. He then did the same thing across the road where he assumed the dog was hit and lost it's life. I wanted to take pictures of this ceremony, of this native ritual but I didn't want to 'disgrace' him or his people any more, so I stood and watched in silence. He placed the tobacco back in this truck and came out with some paper towel. He ripped off two sheets and handed them to me as he insisted "I need your help." We both grabbed two legs of the dog as the flies quickly scattered. I had the front legs and as we lifted it was odd to see how heavy this dog was, possibly because it's spirit was still stuck within. While lifting, we had to attempt to keep the dog's intestines and organs within the dog, some wanted to fall out, but we managed to keep the dog intact and place it into the bed of his truck.
We closed up the tailgate and I then got a lesson in Aboriginal beliefs. He told me about spirits, life as we know it and how 'city people' just don't understand and constantly abuse their land. I listened politely and apologized for anything that I unknowingly did. In the end, we introduced ourselves and he invited me to join him as he laid this dog's spirit to rest in 'the land where no man walks.' To me, as I was still boxed in and scared to death, I declined and told Branson (I hope that's how you spell it) that I had to be home for dinner. Eventually we parted ways and he told me "It's not always time for pictures, sometimes it's time to respect." I don't think I'll forget that, though I live my life with a camera in my hand so it might be hard. But I know that I do have to respect the land that I'm on and act appropriately. In the end of it all, as I drove away back to all my 'city people' friends, I thought that maybe I should have gone with Branson. Maybe I should have ventured out to watch and help this dog's spirit continue on to it's next stage of life. Sadly I did not, possibly for my own safety, possibly to seperate myself from Aboriginal spirituality, whatever it was I think I missed the point that day, and if I could have done it differently I might have. Whatever the case, I'm glad I crossed paths with Branson from the Tsuu T'ina Nation.
Here's the shot of a common raven feasting on what I assume was a disgrace to the land it was perched upon
