51黑料

ST. ALBANS 鈥� Maureen Stettes almost had her three bison home safely when people got in the way 鈥� repeatedly.

Sometimes they lined the road, trying to get a glimpse of the magnificent animals of the plains, she said. Sometimes they made noise or otherwise created a distraction.

Sometimes they even blocked the way.

Eventually, she said, one of the animals panicked. As a result, the three bison are dead, Stettes has a serious injury, and she and her family are out a significant amount of money.

The ordeal took place last Tuesday. Stettes, 61, was with her husband in Washington, Missouri, where they are renovating their old house. They woke up to news on Facebook that three of their four bison had escaped and were roaming around the Country Club of St. Albans.

She is not sure how they escaped but thinks a fallen tree limb might have been the culprit.

They raced back to St. Albans and headed to the country club. She went to the clubhouse and said, 鈥淚鈥檓 the lady with the bison. Where are they at?鈥�

She was told they were down by the lake, where an employee was keeping an eye on them.

Stettes鈥� family has been in the St. Albans area since ancestors moved there from Germany in the 1850s. At one time or another, family members farmed just about the entire region, including what is now the country club and the well-off subdivision where the animals met their end.

The family has worked the land in many different ways over the decades. In 1988, her brother bought bison at an exotic animal auction, and they have been breeding them ever since.

The idea is to keep the bloodlines pure, Stettes said. Bison herds are far smaller than they were 150 or 200 years ago, and they are prone to problems associated with inbreeding. Members of the Missouri Bison Association, to which her family belongs, breed purebred bison that can be integrated into existing herds.

In December, Stettes took three heifers to the auction and brought back one that was pregnant, though the calf died shortly after birth. The bison was part of the Roosevelt herd 鈥� they鈥檙e from Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota 鈥� so Stettes named her Eleanor.

It was Eleanor who first escaped last Tuesday. She was in heat, so the two bulls followed her wherever she went.

Stettes and her husband, Martin Hoelscher, first tried to lure the animals back with grain pellets called range cubes, which they keep in a bucket.

鈥淚f you bounce the bucket it makes a sound. They recognize it, they want it. You can lead them with that,鈥� she said.

Martin walked ahead of the animals, bouncing the bucket. They followed behind. Everything was fine while it was still early and people were not yet out of their houses. But as word spread about the bison on the loose, people came to look.

Some tried to help 鈥� two pickup truck drivers she doesn鈥檛 even know were instrumental in herding the animals for a time, she said.

But the more people there were, the more distractions. And the more distractions, the more the animals got spooked. They would start heading in the opposite direction.

鈥淭here were too many people, too many trucks, too many cars, too many golf carts, too many people yelling stuff, too much music at the pool,鈥� she said.

When the animals and their human entourage ended up at the Cedars Valley subdivision, roofers hammering on a nearby roof also agitated the bison, she said.

By the time they got to the subdivision, it was 2 p.m. on a sweltering day. The animals had been out and upset since 8 a.m.

鈥淭he animals haven鈥檛 rested. They鈥檙e exhausted. They鈥檝e been on pavement. They are panting, they want water. They want to lie down and relax. They are used to pasture. Most of the time, they鈥檙e standing in water cooling their feet,鈥� she said.

Finally, the animals had had enough. The older bull charged a few steps toward Stettes and upended her, leading with his horn.

鈥淥nce I hit the ground, I don鈥檛 think I knew right away that I got injured,鈥� she said.

When she tried to roll to one side, she felt the pain.

鈥淚 started to get up, and I looked down and said, 鈥極h, I ain鈥檛 going nowhere,鈥欌�� she said.

鈥淭he horn ripped about a good 6-inch gash, maybe longer, and ripped along the side of my thigh,鈥� she said. The skin over her kneecap was also torn.

The St. Albans Fire Department was on the scene, and an EMT quickly put on a tourniquet.

She received 20 stitches, but she can now get out of bed and walk with a walker. She will undergo physical and occupational therapy, and she has a good chance of recovering fully if her wound does not become infected.

While she was being treated at the scene, she heard what she recalled to be three gunshots. Franklin County Sheriff鈥檚 deputies killed the bison. Stettes started crying, she said, but she understood there was not much else the deputies could do.

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 directly give permission for the animals to be put down. However, I got injured, which almost puts it to the point where they don鈥檛 have a choice,鈥� she said.

And with Stettes on her way to the hospital and her husband following close behind, there was no one who could lead the animals to safety.

Franklin County Sheriff Steve Pelton said, 鈥淲e couldn鈥檛 risk the public getting injured.鈥�

A few days after the incident, Pelton called Stettes to ask how she was doing and offer any help. She appreciated his concern.

The animal carcasses were hauled away. She does not know for certain exactly where they went or what happened to them. She believes they were butchered.

鈥淣one of these people reached out to me to say, 鈥業 took care of your animals. I salvaged them, this is what happened,鈥欌�� she said.

鈥淭hey haven鈥檛 offered to give me any part of them. They haven鈥檛 offered to give me any of the meat.鈥�

She estimates the animals were collectively worth around $20,000, between the meat, the heads, the hides and even the bones.

Stettes-Hoelscher wants something to remember the bison by, even if it is just their ear tags.

鈥淲hen it comes to raising animals, that鈥檚 my family. They weren鈥檛 pets, but when you live on a farm, you invest everything in your animals,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hey were my family, and I don鈥檛 have a single part of them.鈥�

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