Never did finish up Thursday's long day.

The warden and I finished our horseback search for sage grouse on Lost Creek almost exactly at noon. We were a third of the way back before he remembered to call dispatch and let them know we were on the road again. And there was a message, from the other warden in town.

Seems a doe antelope got hit by a train Wednesday, breaking her back. And she is still alive. The other warden decided it was best to leave her laying there, alive, for as long as possible.

And I agree.

Her two fawns are still there at her side.

Now, we're in mid-July. Physiologically, the fawns are grown enough to feed themselves. Their likelihood of survival is low, however, without their mom or somebody showing them where to go, how to live, how to not be eaten. And they are way too grown for a person to capture (they can outrun us at 3 days old). So my boss is ferrying the netgun down from Office Town, and the second warden had hoped we would be close enough to help with the ferry.

Well, yes, but not on dirt roads with a trailer full of horses. Would take us forever. So she continues on her way to meet the boss and get the gun.

I barely have time to snarf down some lunch at home when she calls to let me know she's back in town. I meet her at the tracks. We can see the mother is dead now. No fawns in sight, but plenty of places for those little suckers to be hiding near her. Since I've fired the netgun before, I get volunteered to ride in the back of the warden's truck as we sneak in.

Now, a netgun is a neat contraption. Surprising it took wildlife folks so long to invent the thing, but it has only been around a couple decades or so. Don't remember the movie, but I saw a scene where they used one to nail Arnold Schwarzenegger on a runway once.

Basically, you have a metal gun stock, but immediately in front of the chamber the barrel is split four ways, into four short barrels that all aim slightly out from center. Jammed in between these four barrels is the small plastic bucket that holds the net. Attached to the net are four long, heavy metal weights. Each weight fits down inside one of the barrels.

Pull the trigger, the blank cartridge goes off and sends explosive gasses down the four barrels, and the weights go shooting out, dragging the net between them. Wonderful tool, so long as you don't hit anything with the weights. If you do, they will kill or maim just like a 1,000-grain bullet.

So, we prep the gun. Easy, really. The important part is getting the weights well lubed. Have one jam up in its barrel, and the other three will reach the end of their tether and then come circling back to you.

Not fun.

We drive slowly up to the dead doe, leaving the heeler sisters behind in my rig (with the A/C going... it's hot out), with me leaning over the cab.

No fawns. Chit.

We stop besides the doe, and make plans. And I look across the barbed wire fence to the south. To see two small fawns comin' a runnin' directly to us. Literally. Okay, but I can't shoot through or over a fence. They have to come to our side. I mimick the call does make when they are looking for their fawns, and the lead fawn (the buck) keeps on running in a beeline for us.

The warden kneels down, and repeats my call. Apparently a red lump in a truck is a friendly thing, and a red lump close to the ground is a threat, because both fawns immediately do a complete 180^o and hightail it at full speed to a high snowfence, a hundred meters off, where they settle in the shade.

We decide to cruise around to the other side of the snowfence. I bail out of the back and jump in the cab. Wisely remembering to remove the blank cartridge from the chamber. Only to have a warden open her eyes wide and point down at my lap, like I committed some great faux pas, like peeing on myself.

I look down to see the net dragging on the floor and out the door.

Damn.

The flap of thin cardboard that holds the net in its bucket is only held by masking tape. Either it came loose, or she undid it in the loading. Now it needs to be repacked. But quicker to replace, so we have a delay of game while we load another net and lube four more weights. And I keep the cover taped on (the blast will rip the tape off, that's why we use masking tape, rather than duct). Fawns are still waiting in the shade.

Heelers get excited as we whiz past them to get around the fawns. No way to drive close to the twins, so I bail out and hoof it across the greasewood, lugging the netgun, while the warden returns to the north side.

Now first I started being macho, with the gun over my shoulder, but those four barrels and netting are heavy. Ended up cradling the thing in both arms like a shotgun.

Fawns see me before I can reach the hole in the fence, and boogy east.

And disappear.

We spend up to an hour or so, cruising the sage and greasewood looking for two orphans.

Got inspected by a couple neighbors, who wanted to know whose truck that was out with their horses. Finally found two fawns, quite a ways away by themselves, in the city waste treatment facility. Peacefully eating, and walking to the horses' water trough. No way to get close. And by appearances, no reason to try.

At this point I mention to the warden that the fate we were offering was not the best. All available pronghorn fawns last year and this year go to the chronic wasting disease research study. To receive injections of infected deer brain, to see if the disease can transfer to antelope.

We return to their doe, to load the carcass so the fawns won't at least be hanging around the railroad tracks. And then stop to visit for a while, as it has been weeks since we've spoken.

Mid sentence, I happen to look over the fence. Here comes the two fawns again, straight at us. Not the two we saw in the treatment plant. Warden grabs the netgun and silently crawls up into the bed of the truck, with the dead doe. Fawns walk the fenceline until they are downwind of their mother, and then turn back, aimed right at the warden.

The buck fawn goes under the fence and stands behind the corner of the truck. Perfect placement for a capture. His sister is confused by the wire.

And bothered by the dumb lady in the white minivan who is coming down our gravel road.

Chit.

Warden tries to wave the woman off, but she keeps coming. And coming. Both fawns bust south to the snowfence again.

Chit, chit, chit.

Young woman in the van isn't even apologetic. Just a little perturbed we would park in the middle of the road they use as a driveway.

And yet, she'll probably be the first to call when the young fawns end up hanging around alone.

We replace the doe carcass on the ground, and wait to see if the fawns will return. Warden sitting in bed of truck, me leaning on tailgate, as lightning dances on the ridges north and south of us.

Probably not too smart, with all that conductive metal around. And unproductive. After 18:00, we call it quits. Warden had a coyote killing antelope fawns in a subdivision to go shoot.

Checked the area by the dead doe Friday and yesterday. No fawns in sight.