Today I added two small rocks to my pile above the monitor.

We awoke to rain at 0500, dripping off the roof onto the lilac. Rather than abandon hope of getting any work done, and forcing myself to go back to sleep in the warm, crowded bed, I got up to check the weather at points north.

First I kicked eldest son off the computer and his Everquest game. No, he's not an early riser... just the opposite. He's been online all night (youngest son and wife's godson gave up and went to sleep ~0100).

Anyway, the city to the northeast reported "clear", and the town to the northwest had "fair." So an hour later the heeler sisters and I were off, in the rain.

It was raining lightly where we needed to classify antelope, but quit before we got there. Unfortunately, I dilly-dallied too long, so we were too late to miss the construction. Fourteen minute wait, but it gave the heelers a needed pee break.

Our route takes off in the middle of the construction, but they had the ramp and cattleguard repaired, so we were okay.

As soon as we dropped over the cattleguard and splashed through the mud, I heard a god-awful squeal coming from below the truck. The scream of metal being scraped.

Now, bear in mind this is the first the rig has been off asphalt since I had the front left shock bracket welded back on and the shock replaced.

I immediately began thinking nasty things about the shop mechanic. Figure he didn't get the shock on tight enough.

When we got to the crest of the first hill and out of the mud, I got out to check the truck (and let the heelers drag race).

No, the shock was attached okay. Nothing I could see rubbing.

Try driving again.

The same horrible squeal. The faster we go, the higher and louder the noise. Like having wet sand in your brake pads, only a hundred times worse. Check again. Nothing looks wrong. Brake disc is clean and shiny.

Rolled past the crest of the hill, put the truck in neutral and got out front. Squatted in front, grabbed the bumper and then slowly pulled the running truck forward so I could listen from the outside.

Stupid stunt #1. Do not try this at home.

In fact, do not try this anywhere.

Had images of the truck rolling me flat on the road, and nobody finding me until antelope season in three weeks. And them trying to figure out how I ran myself over. "Was he suicidal?"

"Did the heelers have a grudge?"

Anyway, stupid or not, it worked. I could tell the noise was not coming from the wheel.

Someplace straight underneath.

Time for stupid stunt #2.

Knelt beside the truck and forced the front wheel to roll so I could listen again.

We're over the crest of the hill now. If it rolls too far, this rig ain't stopping for a half mile. And it will stop hard.

"Tell us again how you destroyed the outfit's pickup. Where were you, and what were you doing?"

But stupid stunt #2 also worked. The noise is on the drive shaft, just behind the cab. Expect I picked up some baling wire in the construction (not like that hasn't happened before).

But no, no wire. A clean drive shaft. But there are shiny streaks near the back end.

Lo and behold, a puny, measly piece of gravel has bounced up and jammed itself between the shaft and the shield for the catalytic converter. The shield amplified the squeals as the little white rock (which was quite hot, by the way) scraped the drive shaft clean.

Rock #1.

Our classification route took us to the base of Whiskey Peak (so named because of the nearby illegal destruction of a convoy of whiskey wagons by the army and some temperence women back in the late 1800s). Antelope were right up against the trees.

Unfortunately, on this route you have to backtrack. There is a way to go over the next ridge and make a large loop of it, but I did that the first year and will never do it again. A couple hundred meters of driving downhill on nothing (literally) except boulders the size of your tires. No soil. No plants. Just large rocks. And too steep to turn around.

Many years ago my boss volunteered to help with classifications in this area, and that is the road I sent him down.

So, before we head down the mountain, I give the heelers a running break. And a couple rounds of hide-and-seek.

I won the second round, even if I was laying on cactus and still pulling out cactus stickers when we got home.

And I gave the sisters a water break.

As I set the water bowl down, I noticed a small flat red rock. Looked different.

When they were through, I checked it out.

Yep, set their bowl down on top of a broken arrowhead. Brownish-red jasper, just the front centimeter and a half of a point, but an arrowhead just the same.

Rock #2.

Turned out to be a good morning.