A yelping, screeching cry rang through the woods under a fitfully cloudy full moon night in November.
The ski began as most typical early season forays do. The snow was thin but navigable. A decent snowfall and full moon during the last week meant that the conditions were fair for a rare moonlight ski in November. Driving home into the woods after a day in the office in town I felt good. Thin cirrus clouds dashed across the sky and over Lake Superior. I scurried to complete my chores, eat a quick snack and dress for the single digit weather.
Under the half guise of a dampened moon and headlight my friend, the dog and I slowly climbed up the hill. The conversation was rich. The trail familiar. We skied up to the old county road where we turned east. We were bound for the meadows. Our dog Luna pranced along. At one point she found the leg of a deer and brought it along for the ride. Dutifully (and to my surprise), however, she dropped and left it at my command.
The grade shallows out and we approach our destination. The trail becomes rutted from four wheeler traffic. All efforts and concentration is reduced to the few feet of the upcoming stride. Suddenly a horrendous yelping cry pierces my ear. I immediately yelled out in fear that a wolf was attacking Luna. The cry descends to a mournful yelp. Instincts kick in and I hop around. I kick as hard as I can to assist my dog in painful need. However, my mind is in front of my feet and I face plant into the snow. Thoughtless efforts bring me back to my feet and I continue my dash. The edge of my ski catches a tire rut and I eat the powder once more.
Soon enough I reach Luna. Her front right foot is caught in a toothless Alaskan wolf trap. She whimpers as we wrap our heads around the situation. At first glance it looks bad. There's blood. The dog is obviously in pain and the trap is firmly set. Thankfully and somehow logically my mind recognizes the mechanism on the trap and we are able to release the jaws and free her.
It's dark. The dog is hurt and we are almost a mile from home. Without a careful assessment of Luna's injury under light we elect to carry her home to prevent any further damage from her walking back herself. Within minutes I find myself with an 80 pound mutt on my shoulders, traversing a tough trail with ski boots on in the dark. Unfortunately this isn't the first time I've found myself carrying a traveling companion out of the woods. The best thing that I've found is to fool yourself into thinking about anything else but the situation that you are currently in. We mainly talked about canoeing as I struggled to march my way out of this mess. Along the way I accurately detect the signs that I was on a trap line. Signs that to my discredit I initially missed. With the dog wrapped around my shoulders I tramped a tenth of a mile and rested. During the rests we check to see how Luna was looking. Fortunately each time we felt that she had fared better than at first thought. After a number of rests we reach the cabin. Once home it is clear that she will be alright. Her foot is injured and sore but doesn't seem to have any major broken bones or torn ligaments.
Luna walked away from this one better than expected. Her injury is not life-threatening. However, I take the fault in this one. I misread my surroundings. The lesson in this is that living here leaves little room for complacency. I was in familiar grounds oblivious to the subtle signs around me and my companion paid the price. Thankfully the price wasn't too large...
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