So yesterday was spent finally getting the sage grouse annual reports done and printed. And this morning, they were in the mail, and out of my head.

Also got a flu shot this morning. Shoulder aches some. Hope they got the right varieties in this year's shot.

And spent the rest of the day getting a new computer for the outfit set up. The MIS tech they sent was friendly, although suffering from a cold, so the entire thing is probably a source of infection. And he was scared to try half the things I suggested to get the system to work. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

When all was said and done, it was 10 minutes until four o'clock.

Of the last day of my last deer season. With snow on the ground, a good chance that someone would be out in these last evening hours, trying to get their deer.

Not to mention I still need a few plant samples for the plant identification table I'm running at the youth group over-nighter at the Coal Town's rec center this weekend. Samples that I need to get to the mountains to collect.

And, of course, I have one of those increasingly hard to draw deer licenses in my pocket. Unused. And about to become worthless a half-hour after sunset. (Although the wife says we don't need the meat.)

And, finally, I have two stir-crazy heelers who haven't been out in the country in a week.

So off we went.

The sun was setting faster than I thought, until I realized I hadn't reset my GPS for the end of daylight savings time. So, sunset was at 17:05, not 18:05. And the bitter cold air we had was apparently meeting some even colder air pressing in from the north side of the mountains.

Only a few trucks on the road, none of which looked to be hunters. Stopped to clip some branches at the first opportunity, and gave the heelers their desperately needed break. Then we headed into the mountains and the clouds.

Plenty of new snow on the ground, probably 6-8" on the road. We made the loop through the main drainage, but found no hunters. Quite a few deer out, though, trying to get something inside their bellies to keep the furnace going.

And then, there it was.

A muley buck, peacefully browsing less than 30 meters off to my left, along with a doe. A medium two-point, a two-year old buck.

Perfectly legal for harvest. At exactly 17:05. Thirty minutes before the end of shooting hours. At a distance it would be almost impossible to miss. I slowly stopped the rig, and quickly reached behind the seat. And grabbed...

the camera.

Now, I don't know if I would have killed this buck if I had seen him on another day. The perfect age and size for a meat buck, but we didn't really need the meat, or want the hassle of cutting and wrapping a deer this year.

But there is something inside of me that will not even consider killing an animal so close to the end of the hunting season. I mean, he's made it almost all the way through the danger. How could I shoot him when he only needed to live thirty minutes more to be safe (from us, anyway) for another year?

So, I shot him with the camera. And watched as the doe slowly led him up into the trees, away from the road.

Got home right at 18:00, remembering to drive incredibly slowly, watching for the Trick-or-Treaters.

Weren't any. Not a single kid in costume wandering the streets all the way to our house.

The porch light was still on, as well as the strings of flashing jack-o'lantern lights. And I saw the wife had set up the large jack-o'lantern light in the window. But no Explorer. No one home but the heeler Mom.

As I sat in the rig and wrote down my mileage, a swarm of hobgoblins, vampires and assorted other beasties and strangies came into me headlights. Almost a full dozen.

Escorted by a parent, and one of our town cops, the former Chief.

They were apparently escorting the little kids around town in packs.

I hustled up the stairs, working my way through the mass of costumed kiddies on the porch, unlocked the door, and reached in for the witch's cauldron full of candy. And put a handful in each of the 11 bags.

Their designated adult escorts politely turned down offers of their own treats.

Got hit with another pod of kids, with another cop, maybe ten minutes later. By then the heelers were in the house and, rather than locking them in the bedroom, I allowed them to experience their first Hallowe'en.

The mob kind of threw them for a few seconds, but they soon figured out they were just kids.

The little Batman that came later by himself (with his Mom on the sidewalk) got a much more intensive checking out, since he never removed his mask.

Upon arriving home from work, youngest son pointed out the wife had told him to give three candies per kid. Not the handfuls I was grabbing. But hey, the final tally was only 25 Trick-or-Treaters, and the candy in the witch's cauldron is still a couple inches deep.