I asked Bryce to help me fetch the little guy back to our place so we could start bottle feeding it.

But as we rolled up in my truck, it was obvious the little fellow was unnerved, probably because we were using the truck rather than the four-wheeler that he was used to.

I had just rested my hand on his neck before he was up and running away, straight into the water.

Bryce walked in after him, to try to turn him back towards us, but our game was up.  The little guy took off towards the other side of the water, maybe 300 feet away.  I didn’t think he would make it, being weakened, and, I knew it would get deep enough that he would have to swim part of the way. 

But he made it, and, once on the other side and with the rest, he tried to nurse a little on his mama, as long as she let him.

We knew it would be better for him if he could stay with Mom, and, I hoped that if he kept trying to nurse, her milk might come back in.

So, we left him there.

Until Sunday evening. 

My good wife and I rode out to try to find him.  We rode both pastures, found the rest of the group, but couldn’t find him.  The weeds had grown so tall that it was a given we would miss him somewhere.

We were just closing the gates, getting ready to leave, when Jan spotted him a little way away from us.

We eased up beside him; he made no move to get away.

And I saw the flies where terrible about his neck.

And I saw new fang marks that were bleeding. 

And I thought I might be sick.

We got the truck and before Jan brought it out there, I got up close and pinned him down so he couldn’t get away.

We brought him here, to the place.

But I couldn’t even get him unloaded before Taz, the sweet daughter’s Alaskan Malamute, was leaping up at the back of the truck. 

I wasn’t sure what he was going to do.  Those dogs definitely have a killer instinct. 

But I also remembered how he treated some of our sick calves, otherwise written about in a post called ‘Taz’, and I wondered.

We got the little tyke unloaded, and into the pen.  We penned Taz for the night, just in case. 

The next morning, I let Taz out.  There was a white and black blur as he streaked towards the pen, whining and sobbing all the way.

And, we haven’t been able to get him away from there since.  He dug himself a little space to lay in, where he could keep his eyes on his little friend at all times on one side of the pen.

On the other side, he lays himself down right against the fence, as close as possible.

And, last night, it rained.  But that didn’t matter.  This morning, Taz met me, wet, but joyful at having shepherded his little charge through yet another night. 

He could have spent his night in the garage, warm and dry.  Because he hates getting wet or being in water of any sort.

And, then, I realized that life is like this.

That there are those, and sometimes a very unlikely those, who come to us in our darkest, most vulnerable times.  They see we need help in the worst sort of way, and they stand by, through the night, and in the rain, until we can get up and face life again on our own. 

I have hopes for the little fellow, between Taz looking after, and the sweet daughter bottle feeding him, it seems he has every chance to make it. 

The sweet daughter has named him Chuck, by the way.