While camping recently, my friend and I were sent on a key mission to head to the Hand-Mart. We called it Operation Coors Light. Trucking down the road, ACDC's "Jailbreak" cranked up to 11 on the radio, we had to quickly slam on the brakes (not a good thing in an old Chevy S-10) at the sight of a small-scale traffic jam of 3-4 cars and one confused dog in the middle of the road.

People were either swerving somewhat erratically, stopping, or quickly passing the cars who were stopped. The dog, who had a huge cone-shaped hunting tracking gizmo device, remained almost exactly on the yellow line, slowly turning in circles as horns blared around her. While we were stopped, my friend asked the driver of the next truck over what she wanted to do. Showing that she was destined to receive the "Honorary Citizen of the Year Award" for the greater Lake area, she gave us an ugly face and sped off rapidly.

What to do? We were out of cell phone range, in the middle of BFE, with someone's prized hunting dog. We decided to take the dog to the local gas station. Easier said than done. The dog, obviously smart, had apparently been warned not to get into cars with strangers. We had to slowly coax and cajole her into the car while keeping an eye out for the dog's rightful owner who was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, my friend, who is somewhat stronger than me, picked up the dog and put her in the car in the driver's seat. For about two minutes, she sat looking through the windshield, refusing to move. The dog was pretty, but I was not about ready to let her drive the truck. I pulled her next to me and we took off.

The Japanese woman at the Handi-Mart, was helpful and knew the owner of the dog, Mr. Corn (and no I am NOT making that up) and volunteered to call Mr. Corn to tell him the good news. There was a dog in the  who had actually received the Employee of the Year Award three years running, the hunting dog would have to stay outside.

We made our purchase, took care of nature's call, and got into a strange conversation with the convenience store's janitor (who seemed a little slow) about Michael Jackson's death. We then escaped his clutches and went to the picnic table to enjoy an afternoon beer and watch for cars.

My friend fed the dog some beef jerky, but no beer. We watched every car, hoping for the one. Time after time we were let down. Finally, an older SUV pulled up and a 20-something year old guy got out of the car and walked toward us. "That your dog?"

"No. We found him and are returning him."

"That there is a hunting dog. Should have left him where he was."

"In the middle of the street?"

"Hmmm, maybe not?"

Maybe not? What? We had picked up a dog, rescued a dog technically, and this guy was telling us that maybe because it was a hunting dog it should have stayed where it was.

"She would have been hit by a car."

"OK, Maybe you're right then.  I know the Corns- I'll wait for them."

Just then, a family pulled in in an SUV. The Corns had arrived. The family got out to embrace the dog and put her in a strange contraption in the back of the truck. The man pointed us out to the Corn family, but not a single Corn looked our way.

Coors Lite in hands, we took off back to our camp-site.

The dog was later identifed using Wikipedia as a Germn Short-haired Pointer.