Rogue Males

by Red Yellowfeet

original oil painting by Rowena Eloise - Argenta, B.C - 250-658-0899

Rogue males. The outcasts, forgotten ones, run from the pack by the host. Unacceptable any longer because of disease, old age, sexual dysfunction and obsolescence due to a population of virile young males that are heterosexual and strutting their strut. The rogues move further into seclusion, mostly keeping to themselves out on the fringes of he band and laying low. Mostly trying to stay alive, nursing their own wounds and injuries at night alone, sometimes lying deep in the forest. The old males know what they need to survive, they've made it this far and have a lot of life experience under their belt. Life goes on, the sun rises and sets and the old moon climbs the sky and shines her light down on us like the bright silvery gem she is, in all her phases. Like the stars that circle endlessly overhead, life is eternal, always going on, in its cycles, it its seasons, on the wind and in the air. Rogues come and go, nobody ever really misses them or cares about them, unless an untimely encounter with one leaves someone battered and bruised. Rogues aren't normally gentle beasts; generally they push their way in, take what they want and leave snorting and thrashing through the brush and down the trail.

Rogues are tough old characters, survivors, but they tend to have shorter life spans than the social bulls who find comfort in their winter stalls and with their offspring and mates lowing in their communal shelters. Food and drink for all, and the comforts that the group provides in a social atmosphere. The rogues on the other hand are out there ranging and lying in the cold and wet, taking the brunt of the storm on their chilled backsides. All alone. They generally die hidden deep in the forest on the coldest night of the year.