It started as a good day.

Even this late in the season, the grouse were still strutting. And thanks to clouds in the east, they strutted late enough in the morning for me to complete my Dunes route. Total count was 222 males, down slightly from the 227 I found a week ago.

Which means we have probably passed the peak of male attendance, and I no longer need run these routes. Any mornings left in the season can be used to check other leks, of which there are too many.

And after my route, I dashed south through the dunes to another lek that I had yet to visit this year. Too late for a good count, true, but there were still 24 cocks out strutting.

At least we know it was active this year.

From there, the day turned horribly sour.

Shortly after leaving that lek, the two track road takes you alongside a sheep-type woven wire fence. And I saw something brownish-gray leap up on the other side of the fence as I passed.

I'd never seen it before, but as I backed the rig up, I knew, I dreaded, what I would find.

And I was right.

A coyote. Snagged in a wire snare set in a gap where wild animals pass under the tight fence.

Snares, for those of you don't know, are light cable loops that are built to tighten down whenever an animal gets caught in them. They're a one-way contrivance.

They can only get tighter.

And they're legal here. The intent being that a target animal, most often a coyote, will get the snare snagged around its neck and as the cable tightens, either suffocate or break its neck while struggling.

Doesn't always work that way. And they don't always just snag target species. But here, on this ranch, I'm sure coyotes are the target.

I get out and walk up to the coyote, no longer struggling. The gorgeous dun eyes watch me with worry. The snare is wrapped tight around its waist, cinching it tight just above the hips. By the torn dirt around it, the critter has been here a while.

It strains its hind legs to push itself as far from me as it can, and I calmly tell it, 'Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you.'

But under my breath, as I walk back to the truck, I mutter...

But someone will.

What to do? The coyote stares glumly at me through the windshield as I stare back, reviewing my options.

My gut reaction was to reach down and snip the snare. But that would send the coyote off to die an even more slow, horrible death as the constriction around its waist cuts off bodily functions.

And it would be illegal.

Tampering with snares and the target animals they catch is illegal. A fact that is pointed out by the warning sign on the entry gate into this pasture.

It occurs to me I could probably use my catch pole to hold the coyote's head long enough to cut the snare off its waist. But that, too, would be illegal. Not to mention highly unpopular in this state, and on this ranch.

And truth be told, the world will not miss one more coyote. This adaptable species has managed to maintain their numbers and expand their range despite all the lethal methods and expenditures we humans have sent after them.

No, the only reason this particular coyote matters is because I have looked into its eyes, and calmed it with my voice.

As I ponder all this in the comfort of my truck, I realize there are only two options:

One, drive off like I never saw anything, and leave the hapless coyote to the fate that awaits it at the hands of the government trapper.

But that could take, literally, days to occur.

Or...

I can do what the trapper would do.

I really, really do not want to do that. But I run through all the options again, a checklist in my mind. And that is the only option that is legal, and humane.

I get out and slide the rifle out from behind my seat.

This time, as I level the barrel towards the top of the coyote's head, it manages a feeble, half snarl towards me. And I say nothing, because now I deserve all the hostility it may want to show.

Coyote hunting is a real skill. I've gone along with two friends once, using a camera to their varmint rifles. Stayed frozen motionless as they emitted squeals like a wounded rabbit. Watched over four inches of new fallen snow pile up on our heads and shoulders as we called and waited.

It is as true a sport as any hunting.

But snares? These are just roach hotels, designed to cheaply eliminate unwanted critters. As I said, biologically speaking, one less coyote is no great thing. I've known coyote hunters that come back with seven or eight a day. Government helicopters often get eight with each flight. One ranch near here once complained they only killed 140 in one winter.

And yet, coyotes are still here.

But I have no taste for killing them. I know men who can honestly claim to have killed thousands.

I have lived and worked here over thirty years.

This was number three.