Got my reports for July done on Monday, late as usual. And discovered I only used the outfit's rig for 23 miles that month.

Boss sent down an email yesterday, indicating that was a record low for the outfit.

Not sure if he's kidding or not.

Been meaning to say this for several days, now, and never seem to get it out. So, a personal note to Melissa and Lio:

Envious. Truly, truly envious.

Wish I'd been there, too.

But it is August now, and that means only one thing: antelope classifications.

Field time.

Heeler sisters figured out exactly what was going on when I took the maps and water jugs out to the truck. They're eager, too. Stood next to their door, spinning and yipping non-stop as they waiting for me to come back with my coffee, fruit and notebook.

Spinning and yipping. In the sprinkler, all the time. Didn't faze them at all.

Nothing like starting the field season off with a truck full of wet dog.

Started with area 108, as usual. Got four routes to run in this area, three of which work best in mornings. So we opted for the evening route, which takes us up over the Continental Divide at the top of Miller Hill, and then south into Sage Creek Basin. High elevation sagebrush, mixed with aspen.

Heelers got their first break and run on top of the Divide. Even though it was lightly raining.

And were promptly greeted by waves of thunder from the thunderclouds to the west.

Boomb-a-looms, you know.

When they disappeared for a while over the crest of the Divide, I thought maybe they had panicked and run for the trees. But no, they were headed back to the rig.

Real short break. They both hopped in back and rode there for a few miles. Leaving me little heeler prints on my lap to remind me why you don't let heelers run in the rain. The masked one came forward and tried to dig a nest in the passenger's seat. Generating a loud "Hey!"

Already ruined the upholstery of the previous truck, you're not getting into this one, dog.

Could not believe the mourning doves along the county road. Thought about recording them, but soon realized I'd never get anything else done if I stopped to write down doves. By rights, you expect less of most things in a dry year like this. But what you do find, tends to be concentrated around water or food. In this case, a low weed on the roadside was attracting the doves.

Wife would have liked to have seen them.

After two months of almost no field work, the heelers had lost their "sea legs", slipping and falling at almost every bump or touch of the brakes. By the end of the evening, they had the rhythm back.

The guys at County Road & Bridge have discovered a new toy. Anybody else ever seen a spring-loaded cattle guard?

Looks like a high speed bump made of pipe. With the pipes rising high enough you don't have to dig a pit under the guard to deter cattle from crossing. But the pipes are welded together in three pieces, which are hinged. You drive over (at 5 mph, as posted on the cattle guard) and the high, center piece drops to the ground, pushing the front and back pieces flat as well.

Then, once the vehicle is over, the springs push the center pipes back up. Lifting the sides of the bump.

Kind of cool.

Especially if you have no dignity and run back behind your rig and ride the center piece as it rises.

Notice they don't really know if it is going to work with cows yet, as they have one flagged strand of wire across the contraption that you have to open like a gate, first.

It did not work with heelers. These girls are intimidated by real cattleguards, and will sometimes slowly pick their way across the pipes. But not with this thing. Since there was no hole underneath, they just trotted across like they'd been doing it every day.

Midway through the route, the little maskless heeler came over to stare into my face. The only response she got was "Hi."

Frustrated, she jumped into the back seat and began pawing at their water bowl.

Guess I've forgotten some field habits, too.

Lots of antelope. Surprisingly large number of fawns (although I haven't calculated the ratio yet). Almost all in large herds on the few mountain meadows that exist up here in the sage. Surprised two sage grouse hens and three chicks on one meadow.

Surprised a couple yearling bull elk way out in the sage in the Basin. They headed for the trees immediately, and each had barely enough antler to reach past his ears.

As soon as we finished our route and got back on a semi-main county road, I spotted headlights behind us. The truck caught up when I stopped to write down a small herd of deer (right across from the tree where we set the decoy up two years ago). Turned out to be one of our smaller ranchers (the ranch, not the man) who'd been out visiting neighbors. And looking at a new fence they want him to put in.

Know where that fence is going, and commented I didn't envy him all the rocks he'd have to deal with there.

He corrected me, "There's only one rock on that place. But it's a big 'un."

Yeah. about five townships big.

It was getting dark, so he nodded back towards the bed of his flatbed, and noted "gotta get these sage chickens home to cook."

Sage "chicken" season won't open for six or seven weeks. But most residents will tell you they taste best between Fourth of July and Labor Day, not when we hunt them.

He was kidding, of course, but he did make me look.