Yesterday....

was so beautiful- just the perfect day (almost) in Wyoming. We packed a picnic lunch, picked up the boys from preschool/daycare and headed for the mountains. Over night the trees have been washed in their golden fall color and the river is a dashing, glorious thing. Eventually, after watching a hawk swoop down on its prey, we found our spot- a little creek winding its way through tiny bluffs covered in grass, soft dirt and a skiff of snow. We sat in the sun and ate while the boys hung over the edge of a culvert and yelled down the long metal tube. I remember playing in the culvert at my Uncle Dave's when I was a kid- there is something so attractive in that giant tunnel under a road that seems to draw kids like a magnet and makes mothers shudder in horror.

We had the dogs with us and they were running around like crazy, sniffing and rolling in all sorts of gross things. Ron took the boys for a walk and I sat in the sun, taking it all in. i heard the dogs barking at one end of an old log out in the bushes and smiled, thinking they had found a rabbit or ground squirrel. My dogs aren't particularly adept at hunting- while they are barking at one end, usually the quarry vacates the area through the other end and they never notice.

Well, they quit their barking and dashed back to me, shaking their heads and pawing at their noses. When I saw Royal's face my heart sunk. They had found a porcupine in that old log and had been given a taste of why even a gnarly old griz leaves a porcupine alone. I called Royal to me and started pulling quills. Thankfully, there weren't that many, although they were embedded pretty deep all around his sensitive nose and lips. The quills look smooth, but must have microscopic barbs, because they don't want to pull out, and sort of come out with a rrrrrrrrip! Oh poor dogs! Royal, although sensitive and needy to the bone, is a tough little guy because he stood absolutely still while I turned his nose to a fountain of blood.

Tack fared a little worse because the barbs were through his lips and into his gums. We ended up having to go to a friend's house to get a pair of pliers to get them all out. Tack was not as stoic about it all as Royal, which made it difficult to make sure we didn't leave any tips below the surface. I think we got them all, and we ended up staying to visit with the friend which was fun.
So that was yesterday!

I'd miss him dearly....

SO here's a crazy story:

The night before I left to visit Indiana for awhile, I thought Tack had been killed.

By owls.

They're really big around here, ok?

I had let both dogs out to go to the bathroom before bed. It was a pitch black night where even the stars seemed tucked away in their beds. After a little while I whistled and Royal appeared out of the darkness, running like his tail was on fire. Tack did not appear, and right about when I started to get irritated I heard them.
The owls.
It sounded like their was 2 or 3 of them up in the tree tops behind our house and they were excited about something. The "whoo whoos" were coming fast and furious. Now, the great horned owls that we have are big, from 2 to 3 foot tall and a wing span that makes you think a jet is coming in for a landing. They also have claws that would scare a grizzly- sharp and long. If you really think about it, its a wonder there isn't a horror movie out about owls cause they really are freaky silent death machines.
So instantly fearing the worst, I ran out back. It was BLACK! I hit the edge of our yard and heard a suffocated scream from what I was thinking was our fat little darling of a dog. I hollered for Ron to get a flashlight and ran (winceing and hopping from our poky 'grass') into our neighbors yard. I half expected to come apon a huddle of happy owls, hunched over a dying grey body, which kind of freaked me out anyways, but all I heard was the soft rustle of air over wings.

Ron came running with the flashlight but the owls had silently flew to some other, less busied spot. No Tack. No fur, no limbs, no feathers. We scanned the trees, hoping we wouldn't spot his little body cached in the giant pines out back, but found nothing.
I was sure they had killed Tack and then carried him to some quiet spot to devour. It was a horribly sad night. All I could think about was Tack's sweet brown eyes and how sudden and painful his death must have been. I tell you I was a weeping sodden mess. I slept.
The next morning, who appears on the porch, fresh and bouncing from a fun night out on the town? Yep. The dog I had cried over.

Little bugger.