Feeding the Bison and Taming Prairie Dawgs

 I rolled into the Fort Worth Nature Center honestly not knowing what to expect. What is our job here? What does the inside look like? Do they not have an alligator infestation? Alligator infestation indeed! Immediately upon walking through the door we were greeting by a 4 foot alligator named "Dog". Needless to say, I was thrown off. Not because I was staring at an alligator, I have seen plenty of alligators, but because Dog was staring at me like I was Thanksgiving Supper. 

After escaping the jaws of Dog the "friendly" alligator, we made our way over to some of the prettiest animals I have ever seen in my life. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever stood face to face with a one-ton animal that looks like it time-traveled from the Ice Age, but let me tell you—it humbles you real quick. We got to toss out food as the bison looked at us cross-eyed. One of them locked eyes with me, and for a second I felt like I was being judged… or challenged. I gave it a respectful nod and tossed the feed a little farther away. 

After the bison buffet, we made our way to the prairie dog habitat. Total 180. If the bison were stoic old warriors, the prairie dogs were tiny, hyperactive comedians. The moment we walked up with veggies and feed, little heads popped up like they were clocking in for work. We scattered food around, and immediately the town came alive—squeaks, chirps, dirt flying. They darted around like caffeinated toddlers at a playground, fighting over sweet potato bits and trying to sneak snacks from each other. One bold little guy followed me for a few feet, probably hoping for seconds. I named him Rickie. He did not respect personal space.

Watching them was the kind of joy you don’t realize you need until you’re smiling without trying.

The final part of the day was less glamorous, but just as important—cleaning up along the fence line that bordered one of the trails. It was hard work: pulling old debris, clearing overgrown brush, and hauling out things nature didn’t put there. But there was something satisfying about it. Every post we cleared made the place feel more alive. More protected.

There’s a rhythm to that kind of work—boots crunching on gravel, branches snapping underfoot. By the end of it, we stood back, sweaty, scratched up, but proud. The land looked better than when we found it, and that felt like enough.