She's not supposed to be there.

Several hundred pounds of beef on the hoof will make short work of the fiberglass cover and tank of our wildlife guzzler.

The rest of the herd is maybe 300 meters northwest, stuffing their faces with the thin layer of new green grass that is starting to crop up on the desert. But we found her inside the fence protecting our guzzler. The fence that is supposed to protect the guzzler from just this sort of critter.

Had to restrain the heelers as I pulled up alongside the fence. And slowly walked the yearling around the enclosure, until I could get myself to the corner on the left side of the photo. There I undid the bottom wire and pulled it back, so she could sneak back out.

Nothin' doin'.

As I tried to work her back to my corner, she decided to leave. By jumping a corner of the fence. Leaving a bunch of black hairs on a couple barbs as she did.

A survey of the enclosure perimeter found more hairs, indicating that's the same way she got in.

Great. No way to keep her out, then.

We had checked four strutting grounds Thursday morning and then, since we were in the neighborhood, went across the desert checking the four guzzlers our outfit put out there in the 1950s and 1960s.

The first had not fared well. The fiberglass top to the tank had been crushed by something heavy falling through (I'm inclined to blame one of the feral horses in that pasture, but I'm prejudiced). And something had stomped and destroyed the gutter that runs the collected water from the apron to the tank.

So the guzzler was only a quarter filled, and not going to be of much use this summer. Need to let the construction crew know it needs repairs, if I can figure out which crew is responsible.(We're kind of the unwanted bastard child in this part of the state. A long ways away from anywhere. While almost everybody else deals with just one crew to take care of their local construction needs, my little piece of the state is shared by three different crews. And they keep changing boundaries, whenever somebody realizes what a looong drive it is to get here.)

Second guzzler was in good shape. Just needs some nails replaced on the apron, and was nearly full of water. With a nice layer of ice on top, yet.

And in that ice was a wonderful little discovery.

A shrew.

A drowned, perfectly preserved shrew.

Haven't figured out which species of shrew it is yet. (It's in the freezer. The one above the refrigerator. Wife didn't like where I put it, so it's in the ice cube box now. (And yes, it's in a baggie... how crude do you think I am?))

Cute little thing. Shrews are so rarely trapped, our nongame folks get quite excited over every new documentation of their ranges. Just gotta figure out which species it is, and that means thawing it out, pulling the lips back, and counting the itty-bitty little shrew teeth.

Really.

The third guzzler was in great shape, and nearly full to the brim with water. Which, like the others, had a layer of ice on top. 'Course, the ice wasn't that thick, as the little maskless heeler discovered.

The third guzzler had something else that the others did not.

A rabbie!

The little maskless heeler seemed quite upset that I didn't come over and just lift the apron up so they could chase the rabbit out.