Call came almost exactly at five o'clock. From the golf course.

No, not the new golf course, out in the bare, open sagebrush and greasewood by the interstate. From the old course, along the river under the cottonwood trees.

Seems a deer fawn ran into the woven-wire (hate woven-wire) fence around the course, and now can't get up. They're afraid it broke its back. Game warden says I'm closer, and is hoping I'll go check it out.

Suspect the fact that it is dinner time and his wife has been having difficulty dealing simultaneously with her pregnancy and the existing brood of two might have something to do with his reluctance to leave home right now.

Yeah, sure, I'll check it out.

One, because I am closer, and two, because I know where this is and he being new has never been there. And three, because I know where this is.

Along the river, under the cottonwoods.

The witnesses meet us as soon as we pull clear of the trees, waving me down from their golf cart on the tees for what, Hole 7?. The fawn is on the other side. They scoot directly across the course as I make my way around the clubhouse and picnic ground. The woman waves me onto their golf cart trails with my heavy truck.

And shows me the fawn in the distance, still struggling to get up.

Wisely, and to my relief, they both turn back towards the clubhouse as I walk over towards the fawn. We all know what is going to happen. All the better if they don't stick around to watch. But just to be sure, I kneel next to the settled fawn, and run my hands along his spine.

Nothing wrong here. I shift him around, without any protest, to check his hip sockets, since a dislocation is a common fence injury.

They're fine.

I run my hands up his spine to his neck. And only then does he realize someone is touching him, and tries to get away. And I see the problem. Just above the shoulders the neck takes a 30-degree twist to the left.

A broken neck.

And I do what needs to be done.

Playing God with life is extremely hard when there is any doubt about what should, and should not, be done. But when there is no doubt, it is not so hard. Still, I feel a need to linger in this peaceful place. Pictures of pronghorn and deer on the greens are taken, as well as many of the fall foliage, and a few offending tree branches are attacked and destroyed by a maskless heeler hanging out the window.

And we take a short stroll along the river bank. Me guiding the masked heeler through the gate step by step with my voice.

By sunset, we are home.