They're typical cowboys, driving typical cowboy rigs. Heavy large pickups pulling 4-horse trailers.

Loaded, of course.

Parked in the middle of the road. Middle of the cattleguard, in fact. Kinda made it necessary for them to pull ahead in order for me to pass. By the time I pull even with the second truck, they're already back out, leaning against the fender. Waiting for me to clear out so they can go back to scanning the hillside for strays.

Instead, I pull my passenger window even with them to visit.

Or try to, as the window is instantly filled with two red heelers hanging out as far as their necks will get them.

"Whoa! That's a bug-eyed son of a bitch!" the unhatted, younger cowboy announces to his partner.

Which one, I ask.

"The one on the left!"

Meaning the masked heeler, which I knew already.

That's because she's nearly blind.

"Oh. Well, that explains it, then."

And you can tell she was instantly changed from some sort of freakish thing into a working animal doing the best it can.

Our antelope classification route takes us across the Continental Divide at Jim's pass, near where we passed the cowboys, and down into the Pacific basin. Hours later we climb back up to straddle the Divide itself. Here the grass is tall, the air cool. We're running late, so there isn't time for snooping through the old line shack, or hiking down to see how the re-introduced native trout are doing.

There is time for a dragrace or two.

And a couple games of hide-and-seek, which we have pretty much skipped for this entire field season. As the sisters dash off down the two-track road I, with the little metal wedding bell tied to my left boot, go dashing off into the sage.

Ching! Ja-ching! Ching!

Naturally, I am quickly found. But the nearly sightless masked heeler is only seconds behind her sister.

It was fun.

She's right on my left heel as we weave through the sage back to the truck.

Ching! Ja-ching, ching!

You get used to it after a while. Hardly notice it's there.

As we reach the vehicle, I send them out for another race.

Go run!

But grab the masked heeler as she tries to pass me, and herd her with me back into the sage. It took her only a few steps to figure out what we were doing.

And only ten seconds or less for her sister to double back to find us.

Ching ja-ching, ching, you know.

But by the wagging of her tail, I'm certain the masked heeler enjoyed the new variation in our game.

The truck has been filled with mysterious thumps and grinds under my feet since I landed on that rock last week. Replacing the two lost bolts on the one crossmember only took care of the worst of it. The mechanic suggested the other thumps were just the spare tire swinging loose under the bed.

Which cannot be, since the bangs and thumps are right below my heels.

After Monday's inspection, he agreed. The crossmember under the transfer case is also smashed up. Will be replaced on Tuesday.

But as we worked our way up the Divide, I could stand the banging no longer, and checked the spare tire again (the standard one under the bed, not the second spare inside the back of the truck).

It's loose, alright.

Because it's got no air.

A spare tire ain't much use if it's flat.

But hey, that's why you pack a second spare.

So, we finish our route around one o'clock. With the clouds and arriving cool front, I am really, really tempted to just start a second route. 'Cause I'm running out of days to run these routes.

But if I do, we won't get back to town until after dark. Too late to get a flat spare tire fixed. And there's no way I would dare go out tomorrow morning with only one spare.

So. Do I lose the evening to repairing a tire, or the next morning?

When you're talking about equipment necessary for moving and surviving, the sooner the better. We head to town, and drop off my flat spare.

Deciding to gas up while waiting, I notice the front right looks a little low.

The hissing sound coming from the inside tread is another clue.

Craaaap. Two flats in one day.

Which is why you pack two spares.

And hey, the heelers got some Italian-seasoning antelope jerky while we waited.