Shortly after sunrise last Saturday (the 15th).

The heeler sisters and I were checking the last of my sage grouse leks (Meaning we were out "lekking", which is my own term.), down south along the Continental Divide. As in, the first strutting ground is on the Atlantic side of the Divide, and the other two are on the Pacific. We're high, over 8,000 feet. And it was cold, just 30 degrees.

Those huge snowbanks are still on the Atlantic side, as is the pond, but the far ridgeline behind the trees on the left is the Divide itself. Snow melting over there is headed to the Gulf of California (Or, more likely, lawns in Las Vegas or swimming pools in California. Or, maybe, your garden.)

Anyway, we had a herd of cows and a smaller herd of antelope on the first lek. And still 33 cocks were out there strutting, trying to impress at least five hens. We'd had rain for two or three days, which was snow at this elevation, and all the side roads were frozen mud. But at 30 degrees, we were okay.

A Swainson's hawk was sitting on the fence close by, waiting for morning warmth. Which it decided was warm enough when I let the heelers out for their run.

Then it was climbing higher, driving on the Divide for several miles before dropping in on the Pacific side. Where we found 27 cocks on the second lek. Then turn north for lek number three, across wide gentle hills of sage.

And I noticed the road was changing.

It was getting, well, squishy.

The thermometer said 40 degrees. (That's Fahrenheit scale, for those of you in the civilized, metric world).

As in, eight degrees above freezing.

We were still on the main county road, at least a mile from the last strutting ground. And most of that mile would be two-track, on a deeply rutted road with lots of muddy holes and truck traps.

Mud which was no longer frozen. Do we continue on?

Nope. Not this year. Certainly not on the last day of working strutting season. That lek will have to wait until next year.

We turned back. Back to coffee and chocolate chip fudge muffins in bed with the wife.

With a stop off at one of the large snowdrifts along the Divide.

Somewhen, while we were playing on the huge drift, I caught a whiff of skunk. And thought little of it, just made sure there wasn't one of those black and white polecats around for the heelers to encounter. I mean, it would kinda stand out on the snow.

But later, as we reloaded into the truck, I noticed something.

The smell of skunk came into the truck with us.

As in...

Skunky heelers.

Not tear-jerkingly potent skunk aroma, mind you, but definitely there. On the face of the masked heeler, and all over the little maskless heeler. Whether they caught traces of spray while I wasn't watching, or if they found and rolled in it on the snow, I do not know. But they definitely stunk of skunk.

We still had our coffee and muffins in bed, though.

After the baths.