Once again I've had a lot of thoughts to put down here today, but I'm going to start with the crappy ones, just to get them out of the way. If you're in a good mood, you might try skipping to the later entries I hope to get down today. If you're already bummed, read on.

This morning was grey (I love the English spelling) and overcast, but that is actually a good thing. Sage grouse strut longer in the morning if it isn't bright and sunny. Golden eagles tend to stay grounded on grey and drizzly days, which allows the grouse more time for sexual activities. Maybe more on this later.

Most of our snow is gone now, at least on the lowlands. Noticed that Corky's white pickup is finally out of the snowdrift that blew in and buried it. Don't know why he left it out there in the sage alongside the highway last fall, but it's still there. About three miles from his driveway.

Found a dead golden eagle this am, also along the main road. Just melted out of the snowbank, been there a while. One wing nearly torn off, with the breast blown open. Looks like it was hit by a vehicle, and died before it hit the ground. Better than the alternative, I guess.

On the way home I saw where an animal had been hit and smooshed on the Interstate in the other lanes, so we turned back to check it out. Turns out it was two animals, two dogs. Only the front end of the husky/elkhound was intact. That is the good thing about Interstate roadkills, as opposed to those in town. The high speed usually makes the end quick.

The second dog was totally flattened, but I could tell what it was. Dark red pointed ears, freckled legs and feet, speckled white and red coat. Someone lost a heeler. A red heeler, like the two staring out the window of the truck watching me.

Didn't take the time to get teary-eyed, just grabbed a leg and drug the thing off the asphalt before another one of the whizzing semis could smash it down again.

Was going to leave it next to its buddy, and then I realized it was Sunday. In about an hour, the wife and boys would be driving down this highway. Last thing she needed to know was that there was one less red heeler in the world. So I moved the remains off into the brush.

Then I made the mistake of catching up on diaries before writing this entry, including Pischina's letter to Mocksie. Interesting that she used the term "playing God" for what she had to do. That is so true. That is the same term I use when I'm bitching to the wife about the one part of this job that I don't like..."playing God." I sympathize with Pischina... I get to play God a dozen times a year, or more. Deciding who dies and who doesn't isn't easy.

Admittedly these wild animals are not friends like a pet, but the decision is just as hard. And it hasn't gotten much easier over the years. Some decisions are obvious. Most are not. A three-legged antelope is not going to make it out in the wild, with coyotes, eagles, fences and blizzards.

But a three-legged deer fawn who lives in town, with no coyotes and lots of yards to feed in, just might make it. Made that decision on Christmas Eve many years back. Only big difference in his life was that he had to walk through the gate to get into the cemetery, instead of jumping the fence like the rest of his clan. And his antlers on the opposite side of his bum leg grew in strange.

He lasted at least two years. Folks at the Senior Center dubbed him Hop-Along. He got to be a real pain in the ass during the fall of his second year. The male rut hormones had kicked in, and he began wandering all over town looking for a receptive doe. Plus the big bucks with the normal antlers could kick his butt whenever they wanted. So Hop-Along got into all parts of town, places he had never been seen before.

We started getting 3-4 calls a week about this poor crippled deer that must have just been hit by a car. Drive out at all times of the day and night, and there's Hop-Along, minding his own business. We made the macabre joke that it would be worth the bullet just to get some peace and quiet. Of course, no one really would.

After the first week of calls, I finally got smart and started asking them to describe the deer. "Was his right antler really small and kinda squished down? Yes? Well, that's Hop-Along. He did get hit by a car, but that was two years ago. Leave him alone and he'll be fine."

When the rut finally hit full force in late November Hop-Along disappeared. Don't know if the other bucks in town drove him off, or if he just left looking for greener pastures. But he never showed up smucked in the street. Playing God is hard, but sometimes you play the role right. I think Pischina did, too.