By a guy who once thought pigeons were exciting wildlife until Yellowstone proved otherwise.
Yellowstone. A place where nature struts about like it owns the place—and, to be fair, it does. All throughout our stay we saw animals you’d seldom or if ever, expect to encounter anywhere else in the U.S., or the world for that matter. Forget pigeons and squirrels—this is a different league entirely.
One day, we found ourselves driving near a solitary bison. First time in my life I’d seen one in the flesh. Imagine a cow that’s been hitting the gym, taken up boxing, and grown a coat so shaggy it looks like it’s borrowed your granny’s carpet. With horns. And this face that basically says: “Yeah, whatever. Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you. Capisce?”
Later on, one even strolled right in front of our car. Naturally, I stopped. I mean, what are you going to do? You don’t argue with a bison. He glanced at us sideways, as if to say, “‘Sup? Just passing through.” Which was all perfectly calm until the orangutan behind us—also known as a “motorist”—decided to start honking. Brilliant move. The poor beast leapt, startled, while I sat there wondering if this genius had ever considered that honking at a one-ton animal with horns might not end well. Some people.
We also saw a herd of female Bisons grazing away in the fields. Apparently, the males only show up when it’s mating season. Sometimes the females aren’t in the mood, so they basically tell the males to sod off. The males then sulk and wander off, looking for someone more accommodating. So yes, it’s just like real life.
On the way to Lamar Valley, the animal theme continued: bull Elk. These are colossal. Taller than cows, about the size of an American quarter horse, but with antlers so huge they look like mobile coat racks. They, too, do the whole “ladies and children only” herd thing, while the big guys keep themselves separate until required. Impressive creatures, though. You look at one and think: “Yes, that could easily feed a small village for a week.”
Then came the pronghorn deer—nimble, graceful, patterned coats, horns. Like ordinary deer but better dressed. We also saw Moose, but from a distance. I wanted a closer look, but the rangers said that would be a bad idea. Which is ranger-speak for: “Try it and you’ll end up in the hospital, if you’re lucky.”
But the undisputed star? The black bear. Every evening, at the same spot near the park’s west gate, there he was. Strolling about, munching berries, completely ignoring the mob of humans gawping at him. At one point, he even waddled so close to the road you could practically see the seeds in his teeth. Of course, this sparked absolute pandemonium. Every pullout filled, people leaping out of cars with tripods, binoculars, phones. Selfies, group shots, TikTok clowns striking poses. It was like a red-carpet event. Honestly, even Brad Pitt doesn’t draw a crowd like that. This bear has his own paparazzi.
Now, about the food. Yellowstone is littered with lodges and restaurants, tucked neatly out of sight so they don’t spoil the view. The food’s a mixed bag: burgers, fries, hotdogs—standard fare. Chinese food too. And then, bafflingly, Indian food. Which sounds great… until you discover it’s not. One day, I found myself in the men’s room, which was unusually full. Odd, since men’s rooms are normally echo chambers. But here, the cubicles were all occupied, and then came the noise. A thunderclap from one stall, followed by a stench so potent it could’ve been weaponized. One poor guy shouted, “Oh my gosh!!!” before dissolving into pained groans. Another gave a sort of “Woooohhh!” which frankly didn’t sound promising either. I washed my hands, abandoned the idea of drying them, and ran for my life. If mustard gas had a curry-scented cousin, this was it. We later heard the culprit was the Indian food. Safe to say, we stuck to American after that.
By the end of the week, we were torn. Ready to head home, but also wishing we could stay longer. The landscapes, the animals—it all lingers. But truth be told, I was missing my lil dog, Georgie. We’d never been apart this long before, and I imagined him sitting there, worried. Except he wasn’t. He was off having the time of his life with his best friend, another dog of a friend who absolutely dotes on him. So, Georgie had a vacation too. When we got back, though—he lost his little doggy mind. Jumping, yelping, spinning in circles like a tiny hairy ballerina who’d just discovered espresso. You could see it in his face: “Finally! You’re back!” And that, frankly, was the perfect way to end the trip.
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A Kings 
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