County government teams up with local business to address growing public safety issue
TERLINGUA — Last Wednesday, the Brewster County Sheriff’s Office posted a picture of six males behind bars. These inmates weren’t the result of the department’s latest drug bust — they were wild burros, held in a pen at Jackass Flats about 60 miles south of Alpine.
For decades, local officials have been at a loss for what to do with the animals, who are both a beloved symbol of the desert borderlands and a public safety hazard. They can be commonly found standing in the middle of the road after blind curves on Highway 118 — Terlingua Facebook groups often light up with burro alerts, warning fellow travelers about the long-eared lollygaggers. “We’ve gotten a lot of complaints about them,” said Brewster County Sheriff Ronny Dodson. “They’re not mean to people — they’re just kind of a nuisance.”
Local conservation professionals consider them tourists. According to Texas Parks and Wildlife they’re an exotic, non-native species. Just like the area’s rowdy spring break crowds, they routinely cause damage to fragile resources, leaving piles of excrement in freshwater pools and kicking up dust at sensitive archaeological sites.
No one really knows how large numbers of wild burros ended up in the Big Bend. Dodson — whose Brewster County ranching roots run deep — theorizes that some of them were abandoned by local ranches or by smugglers who considered their missions accomplished. “They’re not wildlife, they’re considered a livestock animal,” he explained.
Dodson also knows that the burros are a touchy subject. In 2012, Big Bend Ranch State Park was the subject of statewide ire among animal lovers after a policy of culling herds by lethal force made the media rounds. After much hemming and hee-hawing, they changed course — but reminded the public that the park’s goal was to put the needs of native species first. “The need to remove burros from the park remains, and TPWD retains the option to conduct lethal control if non-lethal options are not feasible,” the agency wrote in a press release.
Enter Pam Gordon of Jackass Flats, a businesswoman and expert on all things four-hooved. She’s worked with horses for more than 50 years, and has a loving relationship with the burros in her neighborhood — her 23-year-old burro Biscuit is the local welcoming committee. Even she had to acknowledge that something had to give. “It’s gotten out of control,” she said.
After a particularly busy spring break season left thousands dodging donkeys on the road, she decided to take action and penned up six bachelor burros — Brewster County’s most wanted.
Attached to the photo was a notice of estray. By law, animals can’t roam freely in Brewster County — technically speaking, these burros are ranch animals. In the notice, the county advised the public that if the burros were not claimed by June 10, further action would have to be taken.
The post sparked a firestorm with over 150 angry comments, ranging from ardent burro lovers to some swearing revenge against the creatures for close calls on the road. Many folks expressed that they just wanted the county to leave the burros alone.
Gordon doesn’t think that’s an option. “We really don’t want to see the herds extracted from the area, but we want to somehow manage the herds’ reproduction, maintaining somewhat of a presence with them without endangering tourists or locals,” she said. (Official counts of the burro population in Brewster County don’t exist, but she’s heard estimates by local experts of up to 2,000.)
In an ideal world, Gordon would like to see a nonprofit program pop up to protect the burros by castrating some of the loner males, slowing down the herd’s reproduction. Neighbors could also step up to pen and house the animals to keep them off the streets. She appreciates recent efforts by the Burro Mitigation Project on the Davis Mountains Resort, which in March relocated a small group of burros to Granbury with the help of Texas Equine Experience and Sanctuary (T.E.X.A.S.) Rescue.
For now, she doesn’t have the time to start one herself — but she’s become something of a local burro ambassador, working to educate the public about the tenacity and intelligence of the animals. Each fall, Jackass Flats hosts a “wild burro race” that requires its participants to win the trust of their wild neighbors or get left in the dust.
Gordon is footing the bill for her six incarcerated burros herself — she says they go through about $200 of hay a week, and she pays employees to spend time with them on top of that. If no one comes to claim the burros, they’ll become legally hers.
Though the estray notice mentions an auction, that’s just a formality and none has been officially planned. Sheriff Dodson wanted to emphasize that the county won’t profit in any way from their capture. “We don’t make money off of it,” he said.
In fact, the county’s efforts to diagnose the problem could come with big bills down the line. Hiring a helicopter crew to round them up, for example, starts at around $1,500 an hour. “These six are just a drop in the ocean,” Dodson said.
Gordon isn’t exactly sure what she’ll do with the burros if they become hers — the hay bill could prove too steep — but for now, they’re welcome guests at Jackass Flats. Concerned community members are welcome to donate their time working with the animals or to bring food and supplies to benefit their care. “If people knew what was going on, they could be a huge help,” she said.
Whatever strategy the county takes, compassion should lead the way. In her view, the burros are just like any other longtime Big Bend resident feeling the squeeze as the area develops at a blistering pace — they’re not hanging out in the middle of the road out of spite. “They’re animals,” Gordon said. “They have no idea about politics and government and lines that are drawn by stupid humans.”