Every Dog is OK

Calhoun hunts. Just in case you didn't know. I am learning about hunting, but mostly I am a suburban kid, without skills or instinct, who has found herself simply trying to keep up with the vocabulary and what is in season this week.

While I can't spot a deer trail or identify bird tracks, I know - when Calhoun comes back during the daylight, only two hours after leaving for hunting, and is white as a ghost when he gets out of the car - I have the instinct to know that something is wrong.

The word I added to my vocabulary today: "snare"

"Vasa was caught in a snare."

I knew Vasa was OK because Calhoun was at the house, not the veterinarian's office. I knew Vasa was OK because there wasn't blood on Calhoun's jacket. I knew that Vasa was OK because Calhoun was walking, not crying.

Vasa is fine. 

When Calhoun was finally ready to tell me what happened Vasa was banging around the kitchen, whacking his pointer tail against the cabinets and getting pets.  Calhoun threw the snare on the table and told me he couldn't figure out how to get it off right away, but that Vasa knew Calhoun was trying to help him.

Vasa held still. 

Vasa did not struggle. 

Vasa did not pull the metal snare tighter around his neck. 

Vasa held still.

Vasa was wearing two collars - that probably stopped the snares from pulling tighter around his neck.

Vasa was only a little over 200 yards away.

Vasa held still.

Vasa was scared.

Vasa laid for minutes in the snow after Calhoun freed him.

Vasa does not have a broken neck.

Vasa held still.

Thank God it wasn't Sogn. Thank God it was not the skijoring dog, who pulls on leashes and restraints like it is his job. In the time it took Calhoun to get to Vasa, Sogn would have killed himself.

Thank God it was Vasa.

Vasa is fine.

There was no more hunting today.

Vasa is fine.

Every dog is OK.

...until he is not.