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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013

heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013

Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013

rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013

choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013

11 January 2007 - 22:04

a hard winter's night

The call came a quarter before six.

The wife. I could easily tell her voice was stressed.

She didn't give me time to get worried. She's coming home on the east end of town, and a car hit a deer right in front of her.

It's still alive.

She's parked herself in the middle of the 4-lane road during rush hour to protect it. A cop's parked behind her.

She told him she was gonna call me.

Ooookay. Let me get my boots on, and I'll be on my way.

Wisely, I opt for thermals, too. It's well below zero, we've got an inch of snow on the ground with more falling, and there's a cold arctic north wind.

Heeler sisters want to go. They haven't been anywhere in over a month.

And they're not going tonight, either.

Wife calls again as I'm leaving the house. Cop drug the deer off the road, and is waiting for me. She's headed home.

As I climb the hill on the interstate, I'm looking at the headlights over on the old highway, wondering which set belongs to the wife. Hoping she makes it okay.

The "cop" waiting by the deer across from the auto parts store isn't a cop at all. One of the deputies. The deer is off the shoulder of the road, maybe 30-40 meters away. As we walk over in the orangish glow of street lights in snow, he explains it tried to walk once, on all four legs, but hasn't gotten up since.

As he talks, the fawn gets up again, on four functional legs, and tries to scale the slight hillside away from the traffic.

And falls. All four legs are functioning, but oddly. The back ones aren't flexing. They hold her up, but she's leaving drag marks in the fresh snow.

No blood, though, which is good.

I approach her head on, and keep talking, in a low, gentle voice.

She lets me walk right up, kneel down beside her, put my hands on her back with barely a shudder.

That's not good.

She lays calmly as I feel her back and hips. Everything seems to be where it should. I even lift the top hind leg and move it through its motions.

She bawls, but doesn't try to leave or fight.

She's a sweetheart. Born and raised in town, no doubt. There's a tuft of hair sticking out on her lower jaw, and she lays still as I smooth it out. Glancing into her big brown eyes.

I don't want to kill her.

I tell the deputy I'll watch her for ten to fifteen minutes. See if she's just in shock and can recover.

He seems happy with the idea.

We meet a second deputy back at the vehicles (the one I hunted bear and moose in the cemetery with). He caught up to the driver who hit the deer. Gave her a lecture about leaving the scene of an accident.

But her car was barely damaged. Just a broken turning light on the driver's side.

Maybe the fawn wasn't hit that hard...

So they head out, prepared for a long night of accident calls during the onset of this latest blizzard.

And I wait.

And wait. Rush "hour" traffic fades away.

Three times in the next twenty minutes, the fawn gets up, stumbles a ways on all four legs, and then falls again. Second time, she lays on her side, her muzzle pointed up into the air.

That's not good.

The third time, she lands the same. Neck twisted, muzzle to the sky, trying to suck in air.

"[Grouse], you're just being a fuckin' coward."

"You know what you have to do..."

Yeah, I said it out loud. To no one but me.

I dig the killing pliers out of their handy pocket in the door, and make another trip across the open grass. Our previous tracks half filled in already with fresh snow.

As I get close, the fawn rouses, struggles to get her chest and head into the normal prone position.

"No! I'm fine, see? I'm gonna make it..."

And I know...

She's not.

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