It's Wednesday evening and I drive up to the Castle, where I'm greeted, as usual, by Kiki, highlighted on the motte the Castle sits on as I drive up the hill. She is back-lit by the side-door lights, it's a very Thomas Kinkade moment - if Kinkade painted walk-out ranches. We only *wish* the Castle was a Kinkade-style house! SWWBO and I have a Rotary fundraising event that we're working. It's a cold day. Oh, bull, it's a howling blizzard. The dogs have been out for about three hours, and Kiki is ready to come in. But Gunner hasn't shown up. Unusual. I give out a call that echoes through the dells and valleys of the Forest of Argghhh!. That usually works. SWWBO and I take about 30 minutes to get ready, with me stepping out to call Gunner now and again. The blizzard is getting worse.
It's time to go, and still no Gunner. SWWBO is openly concerned. I point out the little goofball likes the snow, is very fluffy, and it's only 30 degrees or so, plenty warm for Gunner if he has to hang out on the deck, waiting for us to get back. But I share her disquiet. We hop in the truck, pop her into 4-high, and off we go to the Ambassadors. With a little knot of worry in the pit of my stomach.
We bought this place to get out of the city. SWWBO and I are really introverts, blogs and willingness to engage in public speaking notwithstanding. Ya haven't seen us at the pub crawls, have you? 8^ ) The Exterior Guard are in heaven! We deliberately bought this place because it was surrounded by working farms. What we should have done was check on the age and health of the farmers... the 160-acre parcel to our east was ranched by a gentleman in his 70's who developed a sudden health problem and died late last summer. His heirs couldn't wait to get the property on the market. One of our local businessmen bought it, and while he doesn't intend to develop it right away (hardly the market right now) he clearly has... "plans," seeing as how he went and asked the Water District for 62 water meters. They turned him down. That's all in the future. For now, they're hunting and trapping the area.
The Saturday before our story opened SWWBO and Gunner were down checking out the area where SWWBO intends to establish the Truck Garden of Argghhh! this spring. I was on my way to do errands in town and was driving down to the moat crossing (hey, you have creeks, we have a moat, tomayto, tomahto) when we saw a stranger in mossy oak camo and a rifle over his shoulder moving down the stream-bed (hey, it's not a moat until it crosses into the demesne). Nice guy, named Ryan, he's a buddy of the new owner. He's been given permission to hunt and trap the parcel. He's out getting familiar with the property lines, trying to meet the neighbors. He doesn't realize the area he's in is actually ours - the fence lines don't follow the property lines right here. And he's setting traps. Lots of traps, for raccoon, all along the stream-beds. We introduced him to Gunner, and asked about what kind of traps he was using and the possibility of Gunner or Kiki getting caught. He assured us he was using humane traps, no snares or toothed traps, etc - and he didn't think Gunner's foot would fit. He also says he'll be checking his traps daily.
Heh.
The Rotary event went well. About three inches of snow has accumulated in the three hours we've been at the event. We drive up the approach to the Castle gate, pop up the drive and park. I open my door - and I hear the sound of a panicked dog reverberating faintly, echoing down the hills and valleys, even over the howl of the wind.
Well, carp. I know where Gunner is. He's in a trap.
My stomach gets that empty feeling I always get before I have to go do something with high risk or visibility - either to or for me, or, in this case, finding Gunner before Something Bad happens.
[This is getting pretty long - the rest of the story is in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry - complete with a Twist in the Plot]
Gunner's in a trap, and has been for hours, most likely. He's not the kind of puppy likely to be late for dinner like he was tonight. He's also probably in a trap along a creek that still has running water in it, so he may be standing/laying in cold water. He's still alive, so he's probably not immersed, but who knows how close to hypothermia he might be? I'm going to be searching for a black dog, on a dark night, along any one of a number of creek-beds full of shadows, in a blizzard, with howling winds. Oh, yay.
SWVBO gets out of the truck and hears the barking, too. "I'll get dressed and get the Ranger" she says. From the noise, I'm not sure that I've not heard more than one critter voice... "I'll get my boots on, grab a flashlight and the Vis and head out now." The Vis being our Polish 9mm Vis-35 made during the Nazi occupation - and a pistol which just fits me perfectly (that link is for you, Og), I simply can't miss with it, and don't want to come up on Gunner standing down some coyotes or somesuch and not have the tools I need to be able to deal with it. I don't feel like I have time to grab SWWBO's black rifle - the pistol is upstairs, mag in, the ORC is downstairs, sight not mounted, no filled magazines ready. SWWBO digs out the walkie-talkies, I turn 'em on... and the batteries are dead. Sigh. Note to self, don't put the charger on a switched outlet...
While SWWBO dons her arctic gear, I head out, down the road to where I can get under the fence. Did I mention the blizzard yet? The 20 mph wind-driven snow? At 9:30 PM? SWWBO is going to get the Ranger ATV and bring it down and she'll run the fences, looking and listening for the barking. No, I don't *know* it's Gunner yet, but I believe it is. So does SWWBO. The clock is ticking.
I get down the road to the fence where it crosses the stream at the culvert. If I can't find a place to get under the fence here, I'll just go through the culvert. That'll be nice on my slacks... Oh joy! There's a spot where I can slide the incredible bulk that is the Armorer under the wire. No, there is *no* way I'm going to try and get myself over the fence, which is nice, tough, rusty barbed wire.
I slide under the wire face-up - to better deal with the snags if my jacket gets caught. Heh. Too bad I didn't bring the rifle - I could have used it between me and the wire just like I learned in Basic... No problems, just about a cubic yard of snow up my trouser legs. Getting up, I brush myself off, and head off into the howling, snowy wilderness.
Gunner is still barking, more frenziedly if that's possible.
I'm on my neighbor's property, I'm not familiar with it. I discover that under all that snow... there's more ice-skimmed water than I realized... and not all of it will support the Armorer's bulk,as I learn the hard way. And a fat guy moving through 6 inches of snow, clambering up and down steep-sided stream-beds I find causes a fella to get warm, howling blizzard or no. And even though it's below freezing, the ground isn't frozen, so I'm sinking through the snow and down into the mud, especially when I cross a stream. Suction... sucks.
I discover that every time I call for Gunner, he quits barking, which makes tracking him difficult. No, there's no tracks in the snow - he's been trapped long enough that snow has covered everything. In order to keep him barking I quit calling, especially when I have to make a stream-branch choice. I get across a wide stream-bed when Gunner stops barking again - only this time, I've not called or anything. His barking has been getting hoarser and less loud, so I know he's starting to wear out.
I'm guessing I'm pretty close. Great!
I'm standing on a little mound where three streamlets come together. A hanging valley to my left, a smaller feeder straight ahead, and the main channel to my right. In the midst of a stand of cedars and elms, with lots of rocks that all have shadows of course. In fact, it's nothing but dim white snow and shadows. Well, that, and a 20 mph wind driving an icy snow and it was all uphill and I'm more than a little warm and out of breath, with the blood pounding in my ears. And I'm looking for a snow-covered black dog in a howling blizzard at 10:30PM.
So, making the assumption that Gunner has stopped barking because he sees me, I just stand there and start scanning. I'm hoping for shape recognition or movement. I start just scanning left and right, and then briefly study individual shadows - never looking directly at them - my center night vision is damaged from the years in general and the years in the desert specifically. I can get better detail by looking just off-center.
I call Gunner's name softly - he may not bark, but he usually wags his tail when you call his name, and start scanning for movement - and there it is, next to that shadowy downed limb, in the hanging valley - a shadow with a wagging tail.
I scramble up to the now-whimpering, tail-wagging shadow and get out the flashlight. Whew! No obvious blood or bone, and while he's close to the running water, he's not in it. I am. Dolt. The trap doesn't have teeth, but Gunner has been sitting with his right paw in the air, almost hanging from the trap, but not quite. He's clearly very tired, and every time I touch the trap, he whimpers in that way that cuts to the heart. Gritting my teeth, I say "Sorry, little dude, this is gonna hurt." and move the trap and his paw to where I can get the leverage I need to open the trap. It pops open easily and Gunner leaps away - and promptly gives out a pitiful yelp as he puts weight on the paw. I check the tag on the trap - it's Ryan's. We're going to have to have a chat.
But now, I have to get this puppy home. Did I mention the blizzard? The wind? Well, before, I was walking with the wind. Now, I get to go against the the wind. Into that icy snow. Sigh.
I start off, and look at Gunner to see if he can walk. He tries, about 5 steps, then just drops, rolls over, and exposes his belly and whines. Carp. I do *not* want to carry this 40-pound dog out of here in this blizzard, with all the streams and climbing up and down I had to do to get here.
So, I take off my jacket (hey, I'm fat, I've got a built-in down vest - and I'm almost overheated anyway - it feels good). I lay it down, put Gunner on it, and look for two small straight pieces of deadfall I can use to rig a travois-style drag. Hey, it's just a jacket. It cost more than Gunner did, being a shelter rescue puppy, but he's worth it.
Except the little weasel won't stay on it. I start off, he hangs for about 30 seconds, and rolls off, exposing his belly. We go through that about three times when I give up, and put my jacket back on and pick Gunner up.
He promptly wraps his tail around my face and starts licking me. And I start off the half-mile or so I have to go to get back to where SWWBO likely is. My breathing starts to get really labored, and Gunner's perceived tare weight increases with every step. At least I'm going downhill. Which is probably balanced by into the wind. Plus side, the wind holds me up, right?
I can see the lights of the Ranger, back about where I went under the fence. I stagger up to a cornerpost of the fence, and yell for SWWBO, and stand there, breath blowing like a sex crazed whale cavorting on the surface of the ocean. Without the fun. And nowhere near as cool looking. And Gunner? He's wagging his tail, watching it all.
SWWBO comes up to the fence from the other side to take Gunner. I pass him off to her, and just stand there, waiting for the oxygen levels in my blood to stabilize. SWWBO takes two steps, and promptly steps into a hole, dumping Gunner and herself. And her "Farmer Susie In Winter" clothes are so thick, she's having trouble getting up. I head for the place where I can shimmy under the wire. Heh. Last time I shimmied under wire like that was at Fort McClellan, 29 years ago. Once under I get up and head for SWWBO. She says "Just take Gunner and put him in the Ranger, I'll get up and get over there." "Yes'm."
I pick up Mr. Pathetic Puppy, and trudge over to the Ranger, putting him on the bench seat and turn to head back for SWWBO. SWWBO, being convinced I'm about to have a heart attack, waves me off. "Just stay there, I can do this!" I go sit down. She gets up, takes a step, and steps on a hidden rock and dumps again. She eventually makes it the Ranger and we drive the 400 meters to the Castle. I pick up Gunner, and take him to the bedroom, where he gets put down on the just-changed bed. No obvious blood, no bone splinters, no sense of a green stick or other fracture - looks like the trap worked as advertised. I stand up, reach into my pocket for the pistol.
Ohbloodyhell. No pistol.
And it's been snowing the entire time. Cursing, I trudge out to the Ranger and drive slowly down the road, looking for Vis-shaped lumps in the road. I'm hoping the pistol is where I went under the fence - much beyond that, it was going to be a metal-detecting job, and while I have a WWII mine detector, the batteries are dead... and they weren't as good as modern metal detectors are. Wait - what's that? Heh. Wing from a dead bird. I motor on...
I get to the place where I went under the fence, and park the Ranger to illuminate the area. Advantage of being on the end of a dead end road - I wasn't too worried about blocking the road. Standing to the side, with the Ranger providing a low, shadow-producing illumination... I spot a Vis-shaped lump. And have to go back under the fence. But it's the pistol. Which, of course, means I have to go *back* under the fence.
To wrap this up, I get back to the Castle, check on Gunner He's whiny and tired, but fine. We gave him some ibuprofen and he went to sleep on SWWBO's pillows.
And I went downstairs to drop the magazine, clear the pistol, disassemble the pistol and unload and disassemble the magazine... and clean and lube the pistol, making sure that I use moisture-displacing cleaners and lubricant. Reassemble everything, function-test, slap the magazine in and head upstairs.
I make two margaritas and SWWBO and I just sit there in bed. I am sore and very tired, coming face to face with just how degraded I've become in the years since I retired. It was all I could do to get Gunner and get him home - total distance traveled, probably about a mile. Sure, in mud, over rocks and through snow in a howling blizzard - but hey, those were the conditions in the Ardennes and the Chosin Reservoir.
If they recall me - I'm gonna hafta be a fobbit.
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