The state of Minnesota sold off some excess bison on Friday. The Blue Mounds herd had some spares, they held an auction, got rid of three dozen. I wonder if anyone could just show up and buy one. They sell it to you, thinking you're a meat producer, then find you in the parking lot three hours later still trying to tie it to the roof of the Hyundai. I suppose you could pack it into a Hummer, but imagine if you got into an accident on the way home, and the unbelted bison was launched through the windshield. If someone was driving along in a Smart car, and the last thing they saw was an airborne bison heading their way, their brain simply could not process the absurdity that was about to befall them.
Bison are noble and delicious, so I can see why someone would want one. But for every guy who can slaughter a beast the size of an industrial fridge and convert every atom into dinner and a throw rug, there's probably a fellow who thinks he'll figure it out down the road. The wife is furious: you bought a buffalo? Well, they were having a sale. The child is delighted: Daddy, I love him! Can we keep him? Well, in the sense that we will metabolize his meat, yes, but ... well, we'll see. Yay! I'll call him Bisony!
You never get the nerve to turn him into burgers, and after a month you get used to the sound of him charging the garage door at 3 a.m. Come spring he's a member of the family, so it's hard on everyone when he gets out of the gate one day and wanders off.
You get a call from a neighbor down the block; there's a bison in his yard, and he thinks it might be yours.
"I don't know," you say. "Describe him."
jlileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 More daily at www.startribune.com/buzz
