A second cougar bounded down the hill toward me roughly 50 yards laterally from the first. This sight of the second cat brought a moment of admiration as I saw it stream down the steep incline, its long tail giving balance. He was smooth and graceful as he glided down his side of the canyon. Cougars are beautiful creatures in magazines, on television, and at the zoo.

Ruger was at the top of his game that morning, ranging widely and holding his points well.

Up close in the wild they are all of those things too, but the experience is much different. My awe soon turned back into fear. These big cats were unafraid of my dog or me and quite capable of making us their lunch. Now there were two cougars–two that I knew of. I had been so fixated on the novel sight of the first cougar that I had closed off the rest of the world. How many more were there?

The running cat veered slightly away before disappearing into the crevice. Maybe they had a deer cornered in the crevice the entire time? The original cougar remained couched. Where had the second one gone? I turned, took three more steps and turned back around. Now I had a new problem--not only did I need to turn my back on the cat I could see; I had to make my way through head-high sagebrush without getting ambushed.

Despite the proximity of Ruger and the author, the cougar remained crouching on the opposite hillside.

Three steps, turn, check the crouching cat, repeat. I made my way through the sage as quickly as I could without appearing to run, and 30 minutes later Ruger--who had remained at heel, fortunately--and I were back at the truck.

I have been in such a situation and my preference is that these reclusive creatures revert to being reclusive. During my “incident,” I was first impressed and then unnerved by the sight of a cougar. But even that paled in comparison to how I felt when I saw the second cat bounding toward me–the cougar I’d never suspected was anywhere around.