A few more memories from the long check station duty...

The father and sons from Mayberry. Yes, of Andy Griffith fame. From Mount Airy, NC, where Mayberry was filmed. A fact that they were quick to bring up, and quite proud of. As one boy mentioned, "We get our hair cut in Floyd's barber shop all the time."

Rumour has it that Andy Griffith himself will show up for the Autumn Leaves Festival this weekend, if you're nearby.

The young military man (as evidenced by his close-cropped hair, full camo outfit, and his ending every sentence with "sir"), who was apologetic about killing "just" a small buck.

But he had to get back home to Central City, and get ready for a funeral.

The funeral for our state's latest casualty in Iraq. A man this young soldier had trained with, from the same National Guard unit. He and the rest of the unit have orders to ship out and follow soon. To quote this young man, his officer made the ultimate sacrifice.

As I bent to check the deer's teeth and age, I commented that I hoped his friend's sacrifice was for a worthwhile cause.

"Oh, yes it is, sir. Definitely it is."

I wish I had his confidence still. But the longer the reported weapons of mass destruction remain undiscovered, the greater my doubts become.

The young woman who came out alone, frustrated after shooting a buck deer and then losing him in the rocky cliffs. Heading into town for help from her mom, and an ATV.

She and her mother, an avid deer hunter, came out together the next day. Empty handed.

Two days later she came out again, with a buck. A respectable buck, grander than most, but not the one she hit on opening day. She showed little enthusiasm or pride. She tried to console herself by hoping her shot had hit the first buck high in the back, or low in the legs. Injuries that he might recover from. But you could tell she didn't believe it herself.

The young couple who settled on a small "meat buck", as they described it, from the sandhills. And then wandered up into the mountains to enjoy the colours and ostensibly to hunt for blue grouse. Only to have seven humongous (their word, not mine) bucks wander by, standing broadside for several moments before meandering back into the trees.

The bitter, bitter cold of the walk-in freezer at the meat processor's. It's kept at something like 20 below. Which felt so wonderful on my sunburnt face as I went in to store tissue samples.

Our newly arrived Texan kept his lunch in with the samples. And found it too rock hard to eat the next day, even after several hours in the truck.

My post-sunset visits to their facility happened to coincide with the delivery of their staff dinners. Got invited to partake more than once, but declined. Mexican from one of our local, famous restaurants on Thursday, chicken from the grocery store deli on Friday, and it looked like Wendy's salads on Saturday. Arrived too early on Sunday, but the gal said they were waiting for Taco John's.

And finally, one of the parting comments from one of our cutthroat crew, so terribly relieved to be departing the check station after just three days.

"Bloody, slashed deer necks! That's all I saw in my dreams all night. Bloody, gory deer necks."