We got to the Audubon rehab folks' house a little earlier than I predicted. Gotta watch that 5.4 liter engine... it accelerates too easily. As we walked through their home to the garage-turned-aviary, I noticed a flag on the wall. Always been there I guess, but usually we cut through the kitchen, not the hallway. Noticed the square pattern to the stars, the faded colour and the stitching, and commented to the husband of this retired couple that I noticed it was an original, not a copy. And asked if there was a story behind it.

"Count the stars," he said.

Started to make some smart aleck comment about how I knew it wasn't just a 50-star flag, and then I noticed.

The second and fifth row of stars were shorter, each having only seven stars.

A total of 46 stars. I guessed when the flag was made, and missed by 25 years. The 46 stars flew from 1908 to 1912. After Oklahoma became a state, but before Arizona and New Mexico. Her father had flown it over his mining claim when he first came to this state. They made no comment when I reached up to touch it, other than to apologize for the dust.

Almost 90 years old, and still displayed with reference. Unlike the worn ranch flag I passed on the highway, weathered down to within two to three inches of the field of blue.

The golden eagle we transported up to them? Both good news and bad.

The good news? He survived the trip. With a fair amount of spit and gumption left when I handed him over.

The bad news? The wing is not salvageable. 'Course knew that before I hauled him up. Several inches of bone were exposed to the air, probably for several days. You cannot heal dead bone. The worst news is that there are not a lot of places to take one-winged avians these days. Rehab work is getting more and more successful, so there are fewer and fewer places to send these animals for homes. To top it off, a lot of states (mostly where a lot of you live) now ban the use of crippled raptors for display or educational purposes.

Like that helps the raptors.

Right now these folks' facilities are full, so this new arrival went into their laundry room. Before leaving I got to visit with another eagle who, although blind in one eye, has recovered from a major skull injury and is due for release as soon as he can get a few weeks of flying in to strengthen the muscles.

Impressive birds.

Stopped on a pullout on the way home, just to take a quick glance at the north slopes of the Ferrises, to see if I could spot the elk (since we couldn't fly in the morning). Only had about an hour 'til sunset, but there they were. A big mass of brown objects on a yellowish-white slope, just out of the trees, east of Cherry Creek.

At least eight miles away. Too far for a reliable count. Could see that there were at least 107.

Time to test the four-wheel drive.

Heeler sisters got really excited when we left the asphalt. Had to stop halfway to the elk just to let them out. They drag raced while I scoped the elk again. The little maskless heeler wore off the plastic bag covering her bandaged foot. There were at least 112 brown lumps on that hillside.

Tried several two-track roads to head up to the elk, but no luck. While the inch of fresh snow was not a problem, deep drifts of old snow blocked all the roads heading up the draw.

Found fresh vehicle tracks of someone testing all the same roads I tried. Betcha I know who that was. Betcha I can name the red heeler that was on the seat beside her.

Finally headed up Cherry Creek itself, until the sun was almost set. Then bailed out and hiked the ridge to the fenceline above. Heelers thought this was fun, until we got on the ridge and into the wind (it was 21^o, wind chill probably below zero). But it got us within almost a mile of the elk.

Tried propping the scope on the old (as in older than a century) cedar fence posts, but still had a hard time getting a count. Posts were shaking too much. Finally hiked up the fenceline to a brace post, and got a reasonably accurate count. 136 elk, spread out in a wide horseshoe on the grassy slope, stuffing their faces.

The little maskless heeler slammed her front feet into the backs of my knees. "I'm cold!" The sun was down, and vehicles were using headlights on the highway six miles below us.

Time to go.