This even happened this past Saturday evening about 9:00 pm, after the Packer-Falcons game.
I let Murphi, our Yorkie, out to do her business before bedtime. Because of the deep snow, she usually follows the path I have shoveled up to the back gate of the yard, plows around in the snow, does her job and scoots down and in the house. This time she went about half way up, stopped, and started barking like there was no tomorrow, all the time looking intently at a group of fir trees and Aspen that are in our yard near the gate at the top of the yard.
I go out on the deck and yell at her to stop barking. Yeah right! That's gonna work like trying to stop the Queen Mary in 100 feet. So I go up and grab her and bring her in. Donna asks me what she is barking at. From this point on I don't remember the exact words said, but the events are branded in my brain like the brand on a young hefer.
"I don't know. Something must be up in the trees. I'm gonna check it out."
I start slowly up the hill in the narrow path Murphi has tromped down. This is her Kamikazee Bobsled run for sliding, by the way.
"Donna, flip on the yard light. Maybe I can see what's up here."
"It doesn't work. You dumbass, you forgot to change the bulb when it burned out in October."
I'm in darkness, except for those white and black shadows that are cast in the winter among trees and snow.
I slowly work my way up about 20 feet and am looking into the thicket of tree trunks.
"Ok, nothing there except.............whoops. Tree trunks don't have fur on them, do they?" Now I'm going quickly through a mental check of creatures with fur on their legs.
"Grizzlies....hibernating, except for Oscar, the local Grizzly who meanders around our neighborhood looking for handouts. Ok...he's sort of friendly."
"Lion....nope legs are too skinny and long."
This leaves Deer, Moose, or Elk. I'm hoping for Deer, but as my luck has it, nope. Not a Deer. I look up into the branches and see these big ears flapping around. I'm looking straight into the eyes of a cow elk, about 15 feet from me.
"It's a cow Elk!" I yell down to Donna. Yelling softly, by the way.
"How did she GET in the yard
"How the F_ _ _ _ do I know? She probably came in the front door, walked up the stairs, asked how the family was, and went out through the patio doors into the yard."
"how do you know it's a cow elk?"
" 'Cause she's got a pink fur hat on and lipstick. What does it matter?"
This was one time that I am really sweating it out. I'm thinking, "is this my last few minutes on earth? Am I going to get trampled?"
Ellie Elk has slowly worked her way just a few feet below me and on Murphi's bobled run, so now I'm more or less trapped. Donna is asking if she should call 9-1-1.
"Not yet. If I can get to the gate I'll lift it off it's hinges and get the hell out of the way and maybe she'll take the hint and leave. She can't jump the fence because of the drifts up here. She can't get any leverage to jump over the fence."
I work my way up to the gate, and with each step that old girl followed me, as if she knew what I was trying to do. Just then a voice comes down from the back deck of a house above us and just off the the south.
"Bob, that you there? What the hell you doing up there?"
"I'm dancing with Elk, Magoo!" Albert (Magoo) Jones is the neighborhood watchdog, blind as a bat, and has the right answer for everything, so he says.
"Wow, Bob, ya got yerself in a mess this time. What is that there? A Muley? Ya want me to get my gun and shoot it?"
Oh Christ!! Magoo couldn't hit the ground if he fell out of an airplane and he wants to shoot at an elk in the dark....from 50 yards away...downhill? With me 6 feet from the elk?
"NOOOOO! Just keep quiet and let me get the gate off its hinges and I think she'll leave. She can't jump over the fence because of the deep drifts."
Magoo goes quiet.....my wife is quiet, but has the phone in her hand ready to call the coroner, and I work to get the gate up and off the hinges. After what seemed like an hour but was probably 2 minutes, the gate is up and off and I move slowly behind a small Ponderosa tree.
Ellie Elk slowly plods up the last few feet, goes through the gate opening to freedom, and I swear she turned and looked at me and her eyes said "Thank You."
Or maybe it was, "Boy are you a dumbass."
Anyone for a Weenie Roast?