Wild Columbus

Cover Section Design by Bryce Patterson

With a population of more than 900,000, Columbus is one of the largest cities in the country, and it's still growing. The Arch City still has a wild side, if you know where to look. From a dog that was found in a bush to bobcats and even (five) pet skunks, we sat down with a handful of fascinating Columbusites to hear all about their animals. And it was wild.

The Dog That Was Found In A Bush

Meet Darby, a nine year old shih tzu who--before calling central Ohio home--was plucked fom a bush in Florida while only a few months old

By Jack McLaughlin / Photos by Sarah Pfeifer

Some people find their dogs at a per store, while others pay hundreds, even thousands, to go through an expensive breeder. Some may opt to adopt a foster animal.

Taylor Scott is not any of these people, for she found her dog in a bush. Well, technically it wasn't her, it was her mom. But that doesn't change much.

According to Scott, nine years ago while she was attending college in Florida (her mother also lived in Florida at the time), Scott's mom was out walking her own dog near their apartment complex, when something she did not expect to see caught her eye.

That something was a three-month-old shih tzu puppy.

While they haven't been able to prove this definitively, Scott and her family believe the puppy was abandoned by a local puppy mill in Florida that, at the time, was subject to an investigation.

"There was a puppy mill in the area that was about to be caught, so our best guess is they cleared out and dumped the puppies all over town, around apartment complexes and houses," she said. "We learned later that there were all these puppies all over the place; the timing was right."

Another item supporting her theory was Darby's microchip.

"We found out that he was actually microchipped, and according to that he was a purebred. We did a dog DNA test and found out that was actually true," Scott said.

While the DNA doesn't lie, as "Forensic Files" taught us, Scott said she was initially a bit skeptical about the lineage of the dog.

"Honestly, he looks like he's made from spare parts," she sad with a laugh.

Veginning his life resembling "a cotton ball," Darby grew out of his initial bad hair day, but according to Scott, he likely won't be picked as the winner of a best in show contest any time soon. But that's all part of his charm.

"I would say, about 90-95 percent of the time, his tongue is out," Scott said with a laugh. "Around he time I got him he had too many teeth, so we thought that was causing it. Now he as the right amount of teeth, so honestly I think his tongue is just too big for his body."

She also noted Darby's quirky personality, which includes behavior such as barking at the sink when he wants water, and methodically observing squirrels from her home's bay window on a daily basis.

Although he's technically purebred, Scott said, she's noticed Darby acts a bit like a different animal in his day-to-day life: a human.

"He legitimately acts like a person a lot of the time. He's just not very dog-like. I always say I wouldn't know what to do if I got another dog," she said.

Made frim spare parts or not, and regardless of his human-esque behaivor, Darby made an enormous impact on Scott's life, and not just because the two have become "besties" throughout the years. And not just because he was found in a bush.

At the time immediately before Darby entered her life, she was in her first year of college, and was striggling with her mental health She credits her "little busy-baby" with turning her life around.

"I was legitimately the most depressed I've ever been at the time. Getting Darby really forced me to make a routine and stick to it," she said. "I had real responsibility after that for something more than just myself. I don't know what would have happened; I don't know where I would be without him."

Big Cat Goodbye

As Rick Armstrong, owner of Butternut Farm Wildcast Rescue, reaches 80, he sets a graceful precedent of how to let go of the sanctuary–and the big cats–he continues to care for and stand by

By Matt Mahoney / Photos by Sarah Pfeifer

Despite the attractions of Butternut Farm Wildcat Rescue, visitors might get the sense that things are not what they used to be. A majority of the enclosures once built to house various big cats now lay empty. The grounds are clean, but the facilities are dated. You might see the state of affairs at Butternut Farm and initially think things have gone downhill, but to make such an assumption would be a mistake. The declining occupancy at Butternut Farm Wildcat Sanctuary is not an accident, but rather, all part of a carefully crafted plan that “Cat Man” Rick Armstrong has been developing for decades.

Today, Rick Armstrong has become the sole caretaker of Butternut Farm. At 80, Armstrong might not move as fast as he used to. A series of medical operations might force others to consider abandoning their post, but not Armstrong. “I’m like an old automobile, my parts are wearing out” he told me with a laugh. You get the feeling that he doesn’t take much in life too seriously, with the sole exception being animal conservation, which he takes incredibly seriously.

Armstrong speaks about—and sometimes to—the occupants at Butternut Farm in a striking manner: closer to how you would address an old friend rather than how you would approach a potentially dangerous animal. This is especially true of the reverence with which Armstrong talks about some of the creatures that once occupied the premises. He’s far from morose, but the topic of death comes up all the time given the sheer number of animals that have come through the sanctuary over the years.

“Every animal that’s been in here, when you walk in the yard, you’re walking on them. I spread all my ashes out here. When I pass away, this is where my ashes are going” Armstrong said sternly.

As we approach an outdoor enclosure holding two elderly bobcats—Tarzan and Brandy—Armstrong makes his presence known. He approaches confidently holding a tray of raw meat with feline arthritis medication carefully hidden within. After the death of a 23-year-old cougar last year, the sole occupants now consist of three bobcats: Tarzan and Brandy, plus Sebastian, who lives alone. Although Armstrong is regularly approached with offers to house new animals, he is now forced to turn them away. “Why bring all these animals in if you’re not gonna take care of them?” he asked himself.

After decades working in animal conservation, Armstrong knows all too well what happens to the animals if something happens to the caretaker.

“I can tell you where they’re gonna be, most of them are gonna be euthanized. I’ve been here so many years, I’ve seen it too much.”

Here one gets the sense that Armstrong embraces a different approach to animal conservation than say, Joe Exotic. For starters, the name “Rick Armstrong” is difficult to find on the Butternut campus. He doesn’t self-promote. He has become the de-facto tour guide for any visitors to Butternut Farm, but he is far from the star of the show. It is instead the cats who demand a bulk of the attention.

More importantly, Rick Armstrong seems like he’s still doing this because he genuinely loves animals. He tends not to eschew possessive pronouns, instead referring to the cats by name. And yet despite this love for animals, Armstrong has made a conscious effort to wind down operations at Butternut Farm in his later years. More than anything, it is this that Armstrong deserves admiration for: not for the countless unpaid hours, not for the dozens of animal lives saved through the years, but for knowing his own limitations.

Although a humble man, you eventually get the sense that Armstrong knows a great deal about the big cat community. We talk Terry Thompson: the exotic animal enthusiast operating out of Zanesville who famously set loose dozens of animals in 2011 before taking his own life. Armstrong knew him well.

He wouldn’t speak much on Thompson’s troubles—simply that “he had problems”—but believes many of the lions, tigers, cougars, bears, wolves and baboon (singular) that were put down afterwards were done so wrongly. “They didn’t have to do it to those animals, they did not have to do it,” Rick tells me in an uncharacteristically solemn tone. “If they would have told me, I would have took one or two of ‘em in.”

Naturally, the biggest name in the big cat community also comes up: Joe Exotic.

“He came to Ohio here maybe 10, 12 or 13 years ago with baby tigers. He actually asked me if I could come work for him. I said ‘no way’. I knew who he was and what he did.” This shouldn’t be a surprise if you’ve been paying attention.

“What keeps me going is these guys. Even my doctor tells me, ‘keep doin’ what you’re doin’,’” he said as we watched the old cats eat.

Armstrong makes for a great tour guide and good company, but you get the feeling that he prefers the company of animals. As he contended, “I feel like I relate to ‘em better than I do humans, I do. Right here, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. To me, this is my sanctuary, I mean, all the pressures in the world nowadays that you see on TV: this is heaven.”

As this suggests, Butternut has become a sanctuary not just for animals, but for Armstrong himself. In an otherwise complex world, there is an attraction to the straightforward nature of dealing with big cats. It’s not always easy, but it does appear to be rewarding. Through his efforts at Butternut, and with a little assistance, Armstrong has found himself a degree of happiness that many strive their whole lives to achieve. Neither the cats, nor the caretaker will be around forever, but until the end comes, the Cat Man will continue to toil on, because that’s what cat men do.

To learn more, visit Butternut Farm's Facebook page.

Getting Skunked

Meet the Columbus-area family that also includes five pet skunks

By Jack McLaughlin / Photos by Sarah Pfeifer

A decade ago, Tom Wahjudi and his family wanted a pet. But not just any pet.

“I didn’t want a dog or a cat; everybody has dogs and cats,” he said with a laugh. “I didn’t want a reptile either, or a fish, or a bird.”

Eschewing an even longer list of more traditional animal companions, Wahjudi and his family dug deep into the bag of pet possibilities, and they ended up with a skunk. But not just one, either.

Now a full decade after taking in his first kit (the term for a baby skunk), Wahjudi’s family home has become something of a skunk palace, home to four of the family’s skunks and temporarily housing a fifth for a friend.

The Wahjudi household skunks include:

Blair: 3 years old, female

Brynn: 1 year old, female

Harper: 5 years old, female

Piper: 7 years old, female

Winston: 5 years old, male

We know what you’re probably wondering, and the answer is yes, all five of the skunks have their scent glands removed.

“In the state of Ohio, skunks need to be descented,” Wahjudi said, noting it took him and his wife a year to complete the requisite research before getting their first kit.

While he can’t see his family without skunks at this juncture, Wahjudi listed off more than a few things would-be skunk owners should consider before making the black and white-striped plunge.

First, you can’t simply go to a pet store and pick up a skunk; they must come from a breeder, and wild-born animals are never able to become pets. It’s also very difficult to find medical care for his skunks, meaning expensive exotic vets are often needed. There’s a shortage of information available for potential skunk parents as well, although his family has found something of an answer to this in a website and skunk-dedicated online group called Skunkhaven.com.

“It takes a lot of research. A lot,” Wahjudi said. “For example: skunks have a very slow metabolism. If you feed them dog food, they’ll probably only live for a few years; cat food is even worse. I prepare cut up vegetables once or twice a week, and assemble them for their meals, just fresh veggies, but they also eat insects, even the stinging ones.”

There are other skunk quirks that no amount of research can prepare you for, however.

“They definitely have their own personalities; some are more playful, some are affectionate, and others just aren’t as adults,” he said with a laugh.

By his count, one skunk is very skittish, two will cuddle with his family, and another is scared when being handled. The other falls somewhere in between.

According to Wahjudi, a skunk’s first year—while still a kit—is formative, and can play a significant role in determining the animal’s personality.

“All kits are affectionate, although they’re also handfuls. After the first winter is when things change, and you can twatch their personalities come out,” he said. “Some are no longer affectionate, but that’s part of the fun, watching them grow into their personalities.”

Wahjudi doesn’t see his skunks going anywhere anytime soon, either. In fact, he said, his family might even have more if they could. The family also has a special wildlife permit in their name, allowing for a total of five skunks at once.

If you get lucky, you may even run into Tom Wahjudi at the annual Skunkfest, which is held late every summer in North Ridgeville, and serves as a way for skunk owners to gather and share information, quality time, and more. Plus, everyone’s skunk is invited.

Wahjudi shouldn’t be hard to miss: He’ll be the guy with five skunks.