2022 Bear Hunt Day 9 - Fish, Beagles and Northern Lights

I woke up to my final full Manitoba morning.  Fantasy camp must come to an end, but not yet.  There is a bear in the freezer and fish to catch.  

We all met in the lodge for breakfast while the Utah crew had already gone out for a morning bear hunt.  Just before breakfast was on the table, Dave came in and said that Austin had shot a bear.  We all quickly finished our food and went out to look at Austin's bear - which was a really nice black bear.

But with fish to catch, Carter took Gene and I out for an all-day fishing adventure.

We spent the day fishing in various bays and inlets.  Some were more productive than others.  Gene did hook into a really nice pike.  It had one of the biggest lampreys I have ever seen.

I could not buy any fish larger than about 24 inches with or without a lamprey.

Just before lunch, we stopped by Kendall Point to see one of the newer lodges they are building.  It was really pretty, but not nearly as pretty as the view from Kendall Point itself.

The bay near Kendall has historically been a good one for smallmouth bass and it did not disappoint.  I hooked into a handful, with two really nice fish included.

Lunch was Carter's excellent fish tacos with exceedingly fresh pike.  Then we fished for the rest of the day.  Gene again hooked in to a nice pike.  This has not been my year for big pike (or bears).

Once Carter forced me to stop fishing, we headed back to camp.  I started to pack up for the trip home and turned my phone back on, setting it on the table in my cabin.  A text message from SO told me the canine issues we've been dealing with for 141 days are over.  Our new rescue dog who escaped and had eluded every possible attempt at capture was back at home.  She had gone into the neighbor's dog house to get out of the rain and SO had noticed her asleep in there.  The dog finally made a mistake.  The resolution of this frankly made much of the rest of the day a blur.

As it got dark, boats started to come in with the remaining hunters.  Erik had gotten a nice bear on the same size scale as my bear.  Doug got a huge sow.  Matt was unable to connect on his last night.

I booked again for next year - hopefully bears, weather and fish are all slightly more cooperative.  Regardless, I know it will be a great time.

The day ended with a showing of the northern lights, which was an incredible way to end the week.

The Start of Something Big Day 1 - A Beagle Named Isla

With only one dog, getting out of the house was easy.  But this was not really easy in a good way.  There was actually two dog stories to perseverate over, but I'm trying not to think about the most recent one.

In 2015 I brought home a scared, confused, skinny beagle.  Her life had definitely not been good and she really wasn't even sure how to be dog.  While she always remained a bit wary, she quickly adjusted to life with me.  

She loved going on long walks (as long as it wasn't too hot or too cold).  She was good at letting me know when she had to go outside and was very quick to remind me that she was an indoor dog when she wanted back in.  

When I first got her she was a bit of odd-dog-out since Jackson and Fairbanks were a tight Team Beagle.  When Tibbit joined in 2018, Isla took on the role of matriarch - maybe reluctantly at first.  But team Beagle became Isla and Tibbit in a way I hadn't seen coming and never would have predicted.

I know lots of people bonded with their pets in the mayhem of Covid, but for me it was part of what made 2020 such a great year.  I was still working in an almost empty building on some days and I struggled to figure out how to work from home.  But once I incorporated my dogs into the routine, I found a way that worked.  The dogs loved it too.  Time on the couch, early morning walks before wretched online meetings started.  I guess I'm glad that Isla (and Tibbit) got to live through 2020.

I lost Isla on an absolutely miserable March day to hemangiosarcoma this year.  She had her spleen removed a few weeks previous and had done a remarkable job in recovery.  But just as she started to have some good days again, she soon stopped wanting to eat and started to show signs of internal bleeding.  I took her to the vet hoping for a miracle, but knowing there was likely little that could be done.

I've spent a lot of energy beating myself up over the weeks since I lost Isla.  I'm mad at myself for doing the surgery, knowing that it made her last few weeks more about the difficulty of recovery than anything else.  I also know that given what we knew at the time, surgery was the right decision.  I suppose if there is a silver lining to this it is that recovery required her to be calm and the best way to keep Isla calm was to keep her happy.  She slept in the bed with me for much of this time as she hated being kept restricted in the playpen.  She also had tons of extra attention.

I'm equally mad at myself for not doing more.  Rationally I know that letting her go was 100% the right decision.  But the world - my world - is not a good place without Isla.  When I'm working from home I keep looking over at the couch expecting her to be there; Isla loved the couch as much as any spot in the world. 

This is the first time since 1993(ish) that I've only had one dog and looking at only one dog food bowl is painful.  I don't think dogs grieve like humans, but Tibbit's behavior makes me believe she really notices the difference (even if she likes getting all the walks now).

I keep seeing Isla's cold, small frame as I had to bury her.  I think about her looking at me after her surgery.  I know these painful memories of her last few days will be replaced by the endless good memories of a beagle who's life started out really tough but became an absolutely amazing dog.  She'll get a tree if the tiny paw paw I planted last fall doesn't come back.  I know the pain of losing Isla will subside.  Since that first dog in 1993, I've had to bury eight dogs - I still miss each and every one of them.  But as I left, I just wanted Isla back - that terribly-flawed, wonderful beagle who was one of my few true friends.

"Who wants an afterlife if the immediate pre-afterlife is spent clutching the arms of a wheelchair, head bent back at a forty-five degree angle, eyes and mouth wide open and equally mute, like so many of my charges at the Woodcrest [a nursing home facility where the author works on weekends]? Is the ‘soul’ that lives forever the one we possess at the moment of death, in which case heaven must look something like the Woodcrest, with plenty of CNAs and dietary aides to take care of those who died in a state of mental decomposition? Or is it our personally best soul — say, the one that indwells in us at the height of our cognitive powers and moral aspirations? In which case, it can’t possibly matter whether demented diabetics eat cupcakes or not, because from a purely soteriological standpoint, they’re already dead.”- B Ehrenreich

And so with a bit more angst than anticipation, I headed out on the road.

Home to Marquette, IA:  564.1 miles

After allowing myself one cup of coffee and having ritual waffles, I was out the door right near sunrise, a little after 6:00AM.  Road construction near home meant going down a few of my favorite bicycle roads.  It has been a cold, wet, windy year and there hasn't been enough bicycling yet.

The previous day's rain and much cut grass made the area smell like vegetative decay.  That plus the humid, foggy conditions resulted in an uncomfortable clamminess.  I was still enjoying the ride.

Once on the interstate I headed north and west.  Getting around Indianapolis was relatively easy; the opposite direction was nearly a parking lot.  I-74 had very light traffic even barely outside of the cities.  Perhaps the recent spike in fuel prices are keeping people closer to home. 

The morning remained intensely foggy to the point that it may as well have been raining.  

I jumped off the interstate near Davenport, IA and did my best to hug the Mississippi River the rest of the day.  I continually saw signs for "The Great River Road" so I must have been doing something right.  Despite being called "The Great River Road" - much of the road actually diverts from the river.  And some of the best views are fleeting at best.  But I suppose there are enough good views to call it "The Great River Road."  Unquestionably the Mississippi River is an impressive body of moving water.

And even when away from the road, it was a really nice ride.  My route took me through lots of gentle sweeping turns, big hills.  Springtime in Iowa can only be described as verdant.  Since this was Iowa, there was lots of agriculture as well, but even this was quite pretty.  

Soon enough I made my way into Marquette and found my hotel.  It sits right across the street from the river with a small levee in the way.  I walked around the park for a bit, happy to be off the bike.

I made my way down to a convenience store for some snacks - I hadn't eaten at all through the day and was hungry enough that my purchases were quite stupid.  Actually I'll also blame Doritos for being stupid since Doritos 3D are apparently just bugles with weird seasoning.  I hate to think how much I paid for them...

Dinner back at the hotel was a noodle bowl I brought from home.  It seemed easier than going down to the casino for dinner (I assume they have a restaurant).  Besides, the casino boat looked enough like the Ozark casino boat that I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

I ended the day with gas station ice cream - which was a good enough way to end the day.

50/80/50 Trip Day 1 - On The Guilty Road

The Plan:  COVID does still dominate ... almost everything.  But with things like vaccines and better guidance, my family made plans to get together at my sister's in Utah.  There have been a couple "big" birthdays during the past 18 months of craziness and another coming up.  SO and my plan was to head west on the motorcycle for a long-overdue real road trip, apexing in Utah before returning home.

The Reality:  About two weeks before leaving the younger dog stopped eating.  After about a day of this I took her to the vet.  Some tests showed something was wrong, but not clearly what.  This set off several rounds of tests/procedures/specialists until immune mediated hemolytic anemia was diagnosed - basically her immune system was attacking her red blood cells.  By Independence Day weekend, she was on several medications and seemed to be feeling at least a little bit better.  But with uncertainty and needed follow-up testing, there was no way she could be kenneled.  Since my family was gathering, we decided I was to head west alone while SO abandoned her vacation.

The weeks before leaving were quite difficult.  I can think back to one of the many trips to the vet, worried about the sad, sick dog and really frustrated about a big issue at work that I could probably solve quickly if I wasn't working from home thinking, "If I had known this was what mid-life was going to be like..." - Thanks but No.

If there is a silver lining (there almost always is), if it weren't for the upcoming trip, we may have waited a bit longer to take her to the vet.  The earlier first visit gave us enough time to get a diagnosis before it turned much more critical.

I decided to take the GL instead of the Triumph to have a bit more room.  Then I changed/rethought/updated/overthought what gear I was going to bring, ultimately deciding to wear my vented mesh jacket and bring extra rain gear.  It seemed almost like cheating to not wear my trusty TourMaster jacket, but it just made more sense for traveling during the hottest part of the year - especially since I was solo.

So right around sunrise I said goodbye and hit the road.

Home to Osceola, IA:  562.3 miles

There was just a hint of fog at home, but it got heavier and patchier in spots as I rode along the familiar two-lane roads by home.  I jumped on the interstate and headed toward Indianapolis.  I guess that the observed Independence Day Holiday had everyone in Indy at home since I think this was the easiest I have ever had getting around that city.  I'll take it.

As the morning continued however, the interstate got much busier.  It wasn't terrible, but there was considerably more traffic then when I went to Minnesota a few weeks ago.  I must not have a very good imagination because I took nearly the same route I did then as well.  

I got off the interstate near Peoria, IL and it was none too soon since I was tired of it.  At first this felt like a mistake, but within a few miles traffic disappeared to almost nothing.  Rural Illinois may not have mountains, but it is pretty in its own way.  It also felt like home.

Once into Western Illinois, I saw evidence of the recent flooding and severe wind.  I saw one farmer tilling in his ruined corn - likely to replant.  At another farm I saw a huge silo sitting askew on top of a barn.  Neither of these are good situations.

I settled into the ride pretty well, but it was unsettled at the same time.  There was an overwhelming aura of guilt in this trip since it was supposed to be an adventure for both SO and I, and she was home with the dogs.  It was the right decision to make, but some things are not easy.

I crossed the Mississippi River again at Burlington and stopped for the obligatory picture.  I'm not really sure why, but I was making good time and wasn't in a hurry.

Then it was the long stretch across Iowa.  Iowa was nearly devoid of traffic.  Southern Iowa is really pretty with maybe just a hint of the Ozarks.  On a number of the hill crests, I looked over the windshield at a verdant valley and thought, "Wow, that is pretty."  

But it was also hot.  Temperatures fluctuated around 90F for most of the afternoon.  When I crossed over into Iowa, I was wishing I had picked a city farther along.  As the last few hours went on, I was looking forward to getting out of the heat and humidity.  I was thinking that the decision to wear the mesh jacket was the right one.

I stopped a half hour outside of Osceola to grab a beverage and ended up talking to a guy waiting for his wife for a while.  He was a former Harley rider and missed his riding days.

Soon enough I was in Osceola.  I got gas and went to my hotel - a locally owned operation.  No one was there, so I called the number and they checked me in remotely.  My "key" was a code on the keypad for the lock.  Often these smaller hotels still have cut keys, so this was a new one for me.  I liked it.  The room itself was super clean even if a bit old.  I do love the personalities of these types of local hotels.

Snacks and a very questionable dinner from the Hy-Vee Market ended the day.  What was less questionable with the Til the Cows Come Home Dough-Mo Arigato Mr. Roboto Ice Cream - nearly as good as Ben and Jerry's but much cheaper.  Calorically it may still have been unwise.

Back at home all still seemed to be going well with the dog.  I'm hoping this continues so I feel less guilty and am able to enjoy the time as the adventure progresses.

Short Trip to Michigan Day 1 - A Beagle Named Fairbanks

With only two dogs - both of which are healthy and not geriatric, it is much easier to leave them for a little longer than usual.  SO was going to work, so without the typical schedule, they would be alone a little longer than usual; they are great dogs.  But as I was thinking this, I couldn't help think about Fairbanks.

I always said that if I want to be a better person, I should act more like Fairbanks.  She was the most laid-back dog in the world.  She would never get upset and mad.  She would only get excited if it was really beagle-important.  She just looked at every situation as what it was and accepted it with a knowing grace.

The road trip to Alaska in 2008 seems so long ago now; a lot has changed since then.  It almost seems like a lifetime ago.  And I guess it is a lifetime ago - a dog's lifetime.
I knew I wanted another dog after Sammy and Dixie had died and with nearly unlimited time to think I decided on the way home from Alaska that it was time.  So shortly after getting home I started looking for the right beagle.
A rescue organization that mostly deals with some large breed - I forget which now - had a beagle listed with the name of Sadie.  After a few exchanges, we drove a couple counties over to meet her.  We got there before she showed up, but as soon as Sadie got out of the vehicle I knew she was the right dog.  Head down.  Tail up.  Howl up.

We talked to her owner and she gave us a bit of the situation as we walked toward Pet Smart.  She was Bonnie's dog and had been for some time, but her life had turned and Bonnie was now taking care of her granddaughter - life simplification was in order.
Paperwork was filled out, money exchanged, and a volunteer told us there would need to be interviews and a house visit before we would get the dog.  Bonnie looked at the volunteer and said, "No, these guys were sent here to me from above.  Like it or not they are family now."  There was no question Bonnie was in charge, and her words were final.  We went home with - now Fairbanks - that day.
Bonnie emailed me that night, concerned with how her Sadie was doing.  One picture said it all (she's in the middle).

That picture really did show how quickly Fairbanks fit in.

Like most of my dogs there was some adjustment.  Fairbanks was adept at finding holes in the fence, or making holes under the fence.  In a most memorable example, I was getting ready for work and heard her howling getting distant.  Looking out the back window I just caught a glimpse of her running toward the creek.  Still wearing only a pair of moccasins, I gave chase.  Over the creek, over the fence, through the hay field, running, sweating, covered in dewy summer humidity and pollen.
I eventually caught her, but suffice to say I was late for work that day.

Those events were few and far between though.  Mostly Fairbanks was just happy to spend time in the back yard.  For a dog named after a notoriously frigid city, she didn't like the cold.  But give here a sunny spot and she'd be happy all afternoon.

And as already mentioned, she was unflappable.  Where Soda would go bonkers over any small animal, real or imagined, Fairbanks would only show mild excitement (she did love to bark at deer though).
And where Jackson made sure to let you know if there was something he didn't like, Fairbanks treated every uncomfortable situation as just something to accept.

She was a healthy dog with the exception of her ears, which were plagued with infections.  At some point we realized she had gone completely deaf.  But this never bothered her - it just made it easier for her to sleep.
Fairbanks moved to the new house with us.  She accepted the smaller fenced in yard not as the new normal, but the new "Awesome!".

Fairbanks loved walks.  The longer the better - it almost wasn't possible to walk her too much.  Normally she would walk patiently along, smelling and thinking beagle thoughts.  But occasionally she'd catch the recent scent of something and have a very distinctive bark.

I vividly remember the last walk I took Fairbanks on.  She was already having muscular-skeletal issues, but I took her with me to hunt deer sheds on an early spring day.  We weren't finding anything, but Fairbanks was getting really excited with all the smells in the woods.  I unleashed her and let her run.  She temporarily regained some youth.  Up and over logs, through creeks, nose down, tail wagging a million wags-a-minute, barking her fool head off.  She loved it even though it was noticeably hard on her by the time we headed home.

At some point she started to show her age.  She was a prematurely grey beagle, and developed eye issues in addition to her ear problems.  She had been deaf for years, but since she was so laid-back, I'm not really even sure when that happened.  For her, the nose still worked, and that was all that mattered.

She continued to age with grace.  We lost Soda, and Fairbanks and Jackson became Team Beagle in a manner I hadn't seen since Mandy and Sammy.  When one dog barked for food (or anything), it was always a team effort.  For years my phone ring tone has been Jackson and Fairbanks barking - this never fails to get a few smiles when I get a call at work.

Isla came and Fairbanks accepted her as just another dog friend.  Still, when Jackson died the barking seemed to end.  I don't think dogs grieve - and certainly not like humans do.  But Fairbanks noticed when Jackson was gone in a way most of my dogs haven't.

Our wonderful vet noticed some growths on lips and gums during a routine check-up.  Once pointed out, it was hard not to be concerned so we had them removed.  The histology proved serious when it was diagnosed as oral melanoma - this is a very bad cancer for dogs.  The canine oncologist recommended a very expensive treatment, but reading up on it showed clinical results of very little benefit - except those results published by the manufacturer which had very, very questionable statistics.  I felt quite judged by the Oncologist, "Three months with no treatment at most, six is likely with treatment."  Fairbanks ended up making it two more years with palliative care.  Two years as a dog rather than as a patient is a great outcome for any dog.

At some point the aging became less graceful.  After kenneling them when we went to Yellowknife, she came back with some unpleasant GI issues.  Vet to the rescue again, but this was the beginning of her life with a few more restrictions.  Restrictions she accepted with her normal laid-back, supercool attitude.

Life as an old dog isn't easy.  We found tricks to keep her happy and helped us deal with her issues.  It seems every time we have to go through this, we get just a little bit smarter about it.  Much like I wish I could emulate Fairbanks in life, I hope I can accept old age as she did.

Bonnie thanked us in an email shortly after we got Fairbanks for taking her in and giving her a life she no longer could.  I know we did that, and Fairbanks gave 10x more than that in return.
Sadly, the drip of old-age problems eventually added up to be a lifetime's worth.  It was time to say goodbye on a temperate spring afternoon.
We buried her under a new baby tree.  So far that tree is growing well, it will be the most laid-back tree ever.

"The news came to the doctor where he sat with a woman whose illness was age, though neither she nor the doctor would admit it." - John Steinbeck

And so, with thoughts of Fairbanks and all the dogs I've had, I headed out the door right near daybreak.

There were threats of rain, and it wasn't too warm, so I was wearing my rain gear.  I headed out on the small two-lane roads near home and started to head north.  Even with the threat of rain, it was a pretty amazing morning.  It was cloudy and cool; humid with a light west wind.
It has been too long since I've had an adventure - not that Michigan is much of an adventure.  But I needed a break from the routine.  A February windstorm damaged the roof and it seemed like everything was on hold until the roof was repaired.  With a complete new roof finished a few weeks previous, I decided to head up to Michigan.  I had great plans, but most of them fell through.  Such is life.

It took a while to get into the  travel, but the light traffic and nice temperatures helped.  I made my way north but detoured to Auburn, Indiana to see the North American Automotive and Truck Museum.  It sits right next to the Duesenberg museum, but I thought the doozy would take a bit too long and the smaller North American Automotive and Truck Museum looked a little more eclectic and funky.  It sits behind the Duesenberg museum and is in historic buildings used by the Auburn Car company.  Admission was only $10 with a $1 AAA discount.
Some of the reviews of this museum were quite negative, but they must have seen a different museum since it was pretty neat.  Almost all of it was American (not surprising) and spanned the very early days of the automobile to very new prototypes.

Having the rear view mirror on the spare tire doesn't seem the most stable?

I'm great with metal wheels.  I'm OK with wood wheels on an old and slow enough car.  But hybrid metal wheels with wood spokes just seem like a bad idea.

I don't think I've ever seen a Crosley car before, but I've read a lot about them.  I think I might want one?

Not the first "real" General Lee I've seen, but I believe this one.

Note the horrid body work - no doubt from body buckling due to doing things that cars really can't do...

Rotary powered Ford Mustang prototype.  WHY DID THEY NOT DO THIS??????????????

Jeep Gladiator prototype - almost certainly one of the newest vehicles at the museum.  I'm a bit ashamed to say I do kind of like it.

The second half of the museum is in the basement where the hidden R&D work was done for Auburn (and probably Duesenberg).  Apparently Auburn had spies from Detroit always trying to see what the sister companies of Auburn and Duesenberg were up to.  Now the basement holds mostly trucks.
These coal scuttle bonnets with the radiator BEHIND the engine always freak me out a little bit.  I guess it makes sense?

When I was a little kid, the neighbor up the road sometimes drove my siblings and I to school in an old International Scout.  I remember freezing my ass off in it in the winter since there were huge holes in the floor, but I've always wanted one.  I would so daily this Scout Truck!

And if the snow was really bad, I could always take this (on second thought - this just looks really janky...).

Those are just a few highlights.  I talked to the museum worker a little before I left.  The museum itself had only a few people in it which is a shame.  With so much to see and additional knowledge from the workers, it was a great way to spend some time.  I probably didn't like it as much as Historic Auto Attractions, but like it better than Volo...

Back on the road, the weather had gotten really nice.  Clouds were disappearing and the temperature was rising.  I crossed the border into Michigan and decided to follow the GPS - not always a smart choice since Garmin likes to route me into traffic sometimes.  Still, it kept me off the interstate.
Garmin pushed me right through downtown Battle Creek - which wasn't too bad.  It wasn't too good either.
I stopped to get gas and texted John that I was about an hour away.  Just after leaving the gas station I passed a snapping turtle in the middle of the street.  I pulled over into a side street and, ran over to it and grabbed its tail, dropping it into the brush.  Some guy saw me and thanked me, but suggested I should have put it on the other side of the road; I just wanted to put it into the brushy area with a creek.  Hopefully my good deed will be good karma.

Back on the road the traffic on M-37 was nuts.  I remember M-37 being a sleepy state highway, but not on this Friday.  It was almost painful in spots.  Nearer the retail area of Grand Rapids it was painfully backed up.  So it goes.

I got to John's house and took off my motorcycle stuff.  John was my boss through college and was pretty influential in my life during that time.  He is sort of retired but still does some British car work.  We talked for a while and he caught me up on what he knows of former coworkers and a few customers.  We touched on a few other subjects, but it was mostly car people.

From there I went to a nearby lake that I used to fish at during high school.  Actually, we did more turtle catching than fishing, but who is counting after this much time.  When I was in high school, the area was a laid back, almost working class lake and park.  Now it was much more highfalutin.  But parking was plentiful and they had a library right on the lake.  I sat by the lake for a while, followed by some time in the library, taking advantage of the free WiFi.
The view from the library ranks up there as almost stunning.  Surprisingly, the seats near the windows overlooking the lake were nearly empty.

I headed over to a grocery store to get a snack.  There looked like there might have been something right next to the library, but it was ambiguous what it was and I didn't think making an idiot of myself was necessary at that point.
While at the grocery store I heard a few groups of people talking about whether they were going to the yacht club that night.  I really was not in an area I recognized any more.

As I was finishing my food, Mark texted me to meet him at a bar a few miles away.  I worked with Mark during the same time that I worked for John and we've tried to keep in touch over the years - some with more success than others...
I found the Gravel Bottom Bar fairly easily, and it seemed to be right near where the Dirty Shame bar was that we used to eat lunch at.  The area barely resembles what it did back then though.  Mark was sitting with some friends of his who he plays soccer with.  They seemed like good group of guys but it was difficult to hold a conversation with any one person with such a large group.  Mark texted Chris who we worked with and he came down as well.  We moved to a smaller table and talked for quite a while before heading back to Mark's house.
It had been a long time since I've seen either Mark or Chris so it was great to catch up.  It was interesting to hear how life's ups and downs had affected us all over the years.  I'm quite sure if it hadn't gotten late, we probably could have solved all the world's problems.
Mark's stepson joined toward the end of the evening and he had just bought a Sportster - so there was much motorcycle talk as well.
But it did get late.  Chris headed home and it was time to turn in.

A MicroAdventure - A Boy and His Dog

Published in 1969, A Boy and His Dog by Harlan Ellison tells the story of a boy's life with his trusted dog in the post-apocalyptic world that will eventually get here.  Given that I'm eagerly anticipating a dystopian future, I'm drawn to parallels whenever I can find them.  As an aside only, while the 1975 movie based on the Ellison novella popularized his work, this is a very clear example where the written work is far superior to the movie - and the movie itself is really good.

It is unusual for a simple dog walk to turn into an adventure, even if that adventure is a micro-adventure.  But it happened.
I'm done hunting for the calendar year, but that doesn't mean everyone else was.  Ohio's deer gun season is split, with a week-long season near the beginning of December and a second weekend in the middle.  In 2018, that second weekend was December 15 and 16.  Late on the 16th, I was walking my dog about a mile away from home and late in the afternoon.  As I was going up a hill, I heard a ferociously loud gunshot to the east and looking over saw an orange-clad dude fire a second shot.  Immediately after this, I saw a doe and a buck running across the field in my direction.  The doe was moving, with the buck trailing significantly.  I watched the deer thinking, "That buck ain't right - he isn't hit well, but I'm quite sure he is hit."
The deer ran across the road right in front of me and made their way down to a brushy, swampy area on the edge of a field to the west.  They milled around the area, with the doe leaving fairly soon.  I continued to watch the buck, becoming more convinced by his body language that he was gut-shot.
I stood there for quite some time, watching the buck and waiting for the shooter (as this tale progresses, you may understand why I don't call him a hunter) to head in my direction.  I never saw the shooter again.  And I watched the buck for quite a while, slowly walking into a wooded area; I caught several glimpses of him as he continued walking.  I wanted to help by pointing out where I saw the deer last and even thought about walking across the field.  But walking around without orange on the last day of the gun-season just seemed like a very, very, very bad idea.  At some point, I decided there was no point in waiting for the shooter, and continued on toward home.

The following day I had several errands to run.  These errands involved deer feet, a bear hide and many rolls of coins - suffice to say it was already a bit of an odd day.  I will also admit that pulling a box of deer feet from the trunk of someone else's car feels somewhat fetishistic - such is my life.
Later in the day, I was again walking my youngest dog in the area where I had seen the deer and was absolutely compelled to investigate that previous day's deer.  I'm normally very conscientious about property rights, but less so for the train tracks and wasn't sure I would even move off of them ... very far.  But as I walked down the tracks near the area I had seen the deer last, my dog pulled hard to the north and a manner that was a bit unusual.  We continued into the woods for a bit, made a small circle around, and my dog led me right to the dead deer.

The deer was a pretty decent 9-point.  Still young without much mass.  But a decent deer.  I had a hard time deciphering the bullet holes, but he was only gut/ass shot.  And he smelled like a gut-shot deer; even with the cool temperature, the meat would be unusable at this point.
I pondered what to do.  I kind of wanted the antlers and felt entitled, as I couldn't see how the shooter made even a tepid attempt to find the deer.  But if the shooter was a young kid or something, the situation would be a little bit different, and I might even feel a bit bad for him.
On the way back home, I decided I should go to the farm where I thought the land was owned through and at least see if the shooter could be located.
Later in the day I did this and it turned out the shooter was from there (a relative who didn't live on the farm) and they had given up after seeing no blood.  I talked with the farmer for quite some time - he said he would get some pictures of the deer and I could have the antlers after that.  I asked how old the shooter was and the farmer thought for a few minutes, "twenty..." and my interpretation of the situation as well as any sympathy I may have had for the shooter's difficult situation evaporated.

The following day I stopped by the farm again after work to see if the farmer had found the deer.  He had, but the shooter had taken it, "I told him he couldn't be bothered to look for it so he couldn't have it, but he took it anyway."
It was his deer - the story had grown so I did want the antlers, but it was his deer.
"Do you want horns?"  (pet peeve - deer have antlers, not horns)
I do use them for projects at times.
"Well, I got a whole shelf of them that my wife made me get out of the garage.  They've just been sitting there for years so they are yours if you want them."

What can I say, I ended up with a pile of antlers to use for wildlife-themed projects now.  Some of these antlers are quite impressive - where are all these monster deer that I never see???  Yes - these ghosts show up on trail cameras all around the whitetail world ... at 2:00AM.

I'm quite troubled about the gut-shot buck.  Sub-optimal hits will happen - I've had them.  But two shit shots at a distance that didn't look that far?  Yeah, I guess that can happen.  Still, a hunter has a duty to expend all resources looking for the animal.  Always!  Even without my dog, I could have found the buck in a short amount of time.  This was also the same buck I've seen several times through the fall and I was kind of rooting for him to make it through the season even if he was young and stupid.

And yet, there is still a silver lining - for me.  The area I live in is very friendly, but talking to people about anything beyond the weather is unusual since people also tend to keep to themselves.  Having a chance to meet a clearly-interesting farmer was a positive.  He was also exceedingly generous to give me the antlers.

Earlier in December, I was starting to contemplate all the things I didn't do with my vacation as I had a bit more left to burn at the end of the year than I had planned for.
At the end of A Boy and His Dog, the dog's life is saved by "sustenance" provided by the boy (read the story, I won't go into details).  My dogs have a lifetime of food so the parallels are basically non-existent.  Adventure is what one makes of it:  A boy and his dog (and a gut-shot deer).