I am a firm believer in Murphy's Law.

Not that I have a pessimistic attitude towards life. It's just that if you go around just expecting things to happen just the way you want them to, you'll often get rude surprises.

Best to prepare for the worst, and then be happy if that doesn't come to pass.

So I was none too happy after the call at nine-thirty Sunday morning.

One of my wardens.

"Whatcha up to?"

Ummm, not much. I saw no reason to confess I was still in bed, debating whether or not to get a cup of coffee and start reading the Sunday paper. Clearly he was already up and about and working.

"Well, I've got your day planned for you."

Ohhh, crap.

Seems we've got a buck deer with wire fence tangled and dragging on his antlers, and he finally snagged up on another fence. Report is he was hopping like popcorn trying to get it loose.

So 18 minutes after that call ended, I'm shaved, dressed and on the road. Drug kit on the seat beside me, tranquilizing rifle, pistol and jab pole all in the back.

You never really know which one you're going to need, you know.

When I arrive behind the Jehovah Witnesses' Hall, I find the warden waiting in his truck, with a friend. Twenty meters away, on the other side of the roadway fence, you can barely make out a set of antlers.

Murphy's Law says load at least one more dart than you think you'll need, just in case.

But I just load one. It's a windy morning, but we ought to be able to get close enough to not miss.

Now, there are published tables telling you how much drug to use, varying with the size of your animal. Problem is, those dosages were all pretty much worked out by veterinarians dealing with caged, tame, calm critters. With wild, panicky animals, you usually need a little more.

The buck is probably 70-75 kilos, but if he was hopping around as much as claimed... I fill the dart with enough for 100 kilos of deer (220 lbs).

And we slowly creep up.

Yeah, he's there in that shot. You just can't see him because this so-called panicky deer won't stand up. We have to whistle and bang to get him up.

And yes, he's got himself into a mess.

My partner waits patiently for the buck to turn broadside, and then there is a simple pop. And soon, the buck is starting to stumble.

Now, this warden is younger, larger and stronger than me. Yet every time we have to wrestle some critter down, I notice I'm always grabbing first.

Especially when the critter has a sharp, pointy end.

The buck doesn't really go out, presumably because of the adrenaline in his system, so I have to hang onto his antlers for dear life while he stands on all fours, pushing and bucking as the warden cuts off the wire.

Then the deer decides it is time to sleep.

And sleep.

Even after I inject the antagonist for the tranquilizing drugs, he sleeps.

Well, craaap.

That's what you get when you give enough drugs for a 100 kilo deer to one that maybe weighs 75. But now you can't leave a tranquilized animal just laying around, waiting for some vicious stray dog or bored kid to find.

We have to wait for the drugs to wear off.

Or, more accurately, somebody has to watch this deer until he's up and about again.

My warden and his friend already had plans made for today. Plans which this deer has already put a damper on.

Me, all I had planned so far was to get a cup of coffee and lay in bed reading the newspaper.

Craaap.

Can you guys at least watch him for 15 minutes so I can go get a cup of coffee?

So, a little after eleven o'clock on a Sunday finds me sitting alongside a dirt road behind the Jehovah Witnesses' Hall, sippin' coffee and reading yesterday's paper (Hey, with me in it!).

Waiting for a deer to wake up.

Walking over every so often to make sure he's still breathing okay

and that his tongue is still pink.

A few minutes after noon, people start filing out of the Hall and driving away.

(You know, I thought Jehovah Witnesses worshiped on Saturdays... why are they all here today, disturbing my deer?)

And the buck wakes up.

And groggily walks over a low rise, out of sight.

Allllright! We go home now.

Just to be sure, I wait a few minutes and follow the buck.

He's down again, Resting peacefully in the greasewood.

Craaap.

I maneuver around to the seasonally closed RV campground, and begin to wait again. The crossword and Sudoku are already done, so I complete my activity reports for the first half of the month. And my data forms for September and October.

By one-thirty the buck is still not up. My coffee is long gone. Time for another short stroll into the bushes.

The buck is down.

I have to stare for several seconds before I see it. The rhythmic rise and fall of his flank. It's been three hours since we drugged him. He's not tranquilized.

He's asleep!

Hey, buck!

And by all appearances, horribly hung over. Ordinarily, I would try to get him up and walking, to speed recovery from the drugs. But the little weed patch he selected is surrounded on all four sides by fences. Better if he doesn't go stumbling around until he really has his feet under him.

But he's alert.

Just kinda unhappy.

Time to go home.

Three hours later, when I came back to check on him, he was gone. Tracks show he got up, peed, and then headed to the hills. Where I saw, perhaps not coincidentally, a buck of the same size and antler points trying to shove his muzzle up under the tail of an unreceptive doe.

Life goes on. And Murphy was no where in sight, today.