There I was again.

Kneeling on frozen rock in a wintry wind. Hugging tight to the warm head and neck of a gorgeous, wild cow elk.

My face deep in her long neck hairs. Inhaling her powerful, wild sweet scent while a veterinarian poked her neck to draw fresh blood.

The warden who found this elk, ready to do what has to be done, did not understand that was what we meant by a fresh blood sample.

And then, a fraction of an hour later that wonderful, but crippled, elk had been reduced to a scattered pile of meat, bones and tissue. Tiny pieces of which were headed to the lab, and the rest left for the coyotes and eagles.

That happened seven times today. Either us or the other team.

Butcher's bill: 23.

My own tally: 3.