The knock on the door came about a quarter to nine yesterday morning. I never heard the knock, of course, just the hurried thumps on my ceiling and the excited yips of three heelers charging the door. And the slower footfalls of eldest son as he went to answer.

I should say I was working, checking my emails, but I had already done that.

I was reading diaries. But was headed up the stairs before eldest son had to come down.

Cop at the door.

Rarely a good thing.

His reason for stopping by? Dispatch has an "emergency message" for me.

Never a good thing.

Hop into the truck and start it up to get the radio going, then call dispatch.

There's a mountain lion on the hillside behind the Armory. And one warden is in Central City, the other is out of state. Local law enforcement is responding.

I'm on my way.

Throw in the tranq kit and dart rifle. I know this ground, there'll be no opportunity for the dart pistol or jab pole. And the three of us have discussed this scenario. This lion has been around the edge of town off and on for at least three weeks, now. Even made the local and state papers.

Much too acclimated to humans and urban areas for comfort. Or safety.

If it can't be quickly and easily tranquilized, we have agreed to shoot it. I head back into the house for a spare box of .243 ammo.

By 0903 I'm rolling off to town.

Pull into the Armory parking lot, taking a space right next to a pickup surrounded by enforcement folks in uniform.

But these aren't cops or patrol. They're penitentiary guards. What are they doing on a lion call?

Nothing, it seems. Ask the guy in charge and he hasn't the slightest idea what I'm talking about.

"A lion here? Cool!" They've been at a training session inside, just now coming outside to get weapons out of the truck. So I go inside, looking for my namesake who runs the facility. Find him calmly sitting behind his desk, visiting with another man.

You got a lion here?

He smiles. And knows the whole story. Two women on the hiking trail between the historic site and the Armory came in and reported a "cougar" on the rocks above the trail. Positive because they saw the skinny tail.

He had gone out with his binocs, and there, laying in wait on the rocks above the trail, sunning itself in a reddish-tan fur coat, was the biggest...

...woodchuck... he'd ever seen.

Woodchuck. That's a marmot, folks. Marmota flaviventris. A big, furry, harmless rodent. (Also called a "rockchuck", if it happens to be found on a rock, like this one.) He had pointed it out to one of the panicky women, and she positively identified it as the cougar they had seen on the hike. It hadn't moved.

As far as he was concerned, that was the end of that. Until, of course, I showed up.

We walk to the window. Even without binocs, you can see the lazy rodent out there sunning himself. Life is good, now that the vegetation is greening up.

Okay, I would much rather respond to a false alarm than to actually have to decide the fate of a lion. And seeing an animal they couldn't identify, after reading about the lion in the papers, I can see somebody jumping to conclusions. Decide to hike up the hill just the same.

Don't know why it came to mind, but as I checked my watch going up the hill, I suddenly remembered a meeting I was supposed to be at, in about 25 minutes. Fortunately, the meeting place is right next door to the armory.

There is only one gap in this length of the security fence around the historic site. Only tracks in the soft dirt are deer, fox and human. No lion. Marmot is gone by the time I reach his sundeck. Lots of scat around, but none of it with any hair inside. All just marmot crap.

There is a truck waiting in the parking lot for me when I get down. The county road guy, headed to the same meeting that I forgot. He has a scanner, and was hoping to see a show. Had some concerns about one of his projects, and we got most of those hashed out in the parking lot.

Made the big meeting go a lot faster.