As soon as our elk flight ended, I had to get back to printing the herd data summaries for the bosses. So that they would have the information necessary to defend our season proposals to the Capitol city folks. Antelope and deer were done before we flew, just the elk herds left. But the reports had to positively be in the boss's hands by Monday am so that he could copy and combine them with the rest of the region in time for the Tuesday meeting.

Absolutely positively. As in, it was a decision between trusting the USPS, if I could get the reports printed in time to mail today, or waiting until Monday morning and driving them up.

This is the sort of headache that would just go away if our outfit was technologically advanced enough for folks to all carry PDAs that I could email the data files into.

There was a third possibility. See if one of my wardens was heading up to the capitol of the Confederacy this weekend to see her husband. Thus guaranteeing a timely arrival of my reports, and saving me the trip.

Got the answering machine at her home, so tried her cell phone.

But flying tends to fatigue the brain... dialed the wrong number, and got the other game warden (their numbers are in sequence, as is mine). As I explained my error to the warden I did call, I heard the other warden's voice in the background on his radio.

Something about how she might need a tow.

When I called the right warden's number, I found out she was, indeed, going to see her husband this weekend. And she did, indeed, need to be towed into town.

And I had just volunteered.

After hearing her problems, I said it sounded like a clogged catalytic converter. And then gathered my reports and the heeler sisters and headed to her 20 (my south check station pullout).

Seems she was going out to try to find some folks that may have been fishing on illegal licenses. With a possibility of writing four quick tickets. As she and I were crawling under our trucks in the snow and slush along the highway, trying to find safe places to hook on tow chains, the other warden stopped by.

But not to help.

To get her notes on these suspected fishing violations. No reason to let four easy citations go to waste. Notes which he got.

As we gave the chains their final adjustment, we were passed by the second warden heading back into town.

He was almost out of gas.

Anyone eavesdropping on our radio conversations this afternoon would be highly sceptical of the vehicle competence of our outfit.

Towing a disabled vehicle is not a simple thing. Lots of worries about braking slowly, and signaling everything well in advance. I did really well until we had to turn into the auto dealership. Had to make a left across traffic. And misjudged the speed at which an oncoming black car was approaching.

Driven by a teenaged female, so I suspect it wasn't so much that I misjudged her speed, as her speed was inappropriate for the roadway.

Saw the hazard after we were committed to the turn, but then also saw two salesmen step out of the dealership just as I made my turn. And they stopped to chat in the driveway.

My choices? Hit the pedestrians, or stop and abandon my warden to the oncoming traffic.

Well, she obviously needs a new truck anyway, so I stopped. And looked back just in time to see the little car screech to a stop a few feet from the truck.

Now, the funny part? The point to this whole, involved story?

The teen driver laid down on her horn, and then leaned out the window to yell at the game warden!

As if she were responsible for the position of her truck. As if she was pushing me with that long chain between our vehicles.

HellooOOoo?