Typical winter day at Whitehorse; stand around in the trees; wait for the sun to pop through the clouds; watch the frenzied feathered dart about (why do they waste so much energy?); talk to a few buddies; forage for food. Soon I'll have to move on. Follow the fish they say, but I want to stay here. I've heard stories about some of the winter fishing grounds. There are usually a whole lot more "two-leggeds" in those places; guess they like the coastal waters or something about the view. Even though the fish are getting a little sparse, I like these woods. I want to stay here.

Well, I'll be! Here comes a two-legged. Don't get many out here. No more day dreaming for me. "Ever vigilant," that's what Mom always said. Looks like he's got one of those metal pain rods. Hope he doesn't see me. It would probably be better if I flew away but if I do, then I know he will see me. What should I do? I can't decide. I was warned about those pain rods; rips a mighty, piercing metal chunk right into your body. Practically explodes. Burns and stings. Throbbing, wretching misery. Fast too; usually hits you before you even hear it. What should I do? What should I...

...hey, what happened? It's almost dark now. Must have blacked out. Ooowwwww, the wing! I've been hit. I don't really even remember it. Not much blood; that's good. I remember hearing the old timers tell war stories about friends they knew who had been hit. Nearly died from blood loss alone, never mind the starvation. They told of ending up in two-legged places called rehab centers where two-leggeds actually cared. They fed and cleaned them, allowed their broken bodies to heal, and then—get this—just let them go! Accommodations were not exactly spacious, but at least it was safe. I wonder why some of the two-leggeds care and some don't. Oh well, whatever. Don't trust any of them, that's what I say!

At least this chilly white stuff called snow is soft. Cold but soft. Wow, things sure look a lot different down here. I'm usually not down here this long. It would be more interesting, I suppose, if I didn't feel so vulnerable.

If only I could get my blasted wing to work right. It just won't do what I tell it to do. I don't understand; it seems the harder I try, the worse it gets.

I'm getting pretty hungry. I could really sink my beak into a salmon or a trout right now; heck, I'd even settle for some road kill. Haven't really eaten well at all since getting the boot from Mom Iast year. Really thirsty too. At least that's not a problem; there's plenty of water around. Let's see how much. I could probably climb up onto those old logs over there and get a better look around. Maybe I'll spot something to eat down here I could snag without much of a fight. Whoooaa, sometimes this snow stuff goes down kinda deep! Darn, I keep trying to use my *~&#% wing! OK, now that I'm up on these logs I see lots of trees—that I can't get to. Hmmm, lots of running water; over there, more running water. Let's see, really fast, deep running water. Guess I'm in the middle of an island log jam. There's the other side of the river bank.

Think I will head for the brambles. None of them will be able to move around in there like I can. It is really thick in there. I know they will get a lot of scratches without a lot of layered feathers to protect them. They won't want to go in there. This water thing sure isn't working. Yes, I'll give the brambles a try.

Darn! Here she comes! Persistent bugger! Wet and heavy, comin' right at me. Another one too. Relentless. They're getting closer. Dart here. Dart there. I think I can lose them. Nope, still there. Closer even. Now she's taking off her jacket—Fine! You want me, you have to get past my feet! Oh no, it's dark, what happened? She threw her jacket on me; that's why I can't see! Of all the... OK, I'll grab whatever I can get, then; an arm, a leg, she'll let me go then. If it's bramble, she won't be able to get me out. Great, I got something! I'll just clamp on till they leave. What? Must not have grabbed her. I didn't hear any screaming. She's got her clammy hands around my feet. Get this thing off my head so at least I can bite you! I hear the other one now. He's coming through the brambles just like she did. Hey, she's taking the jacket off my head. Oh, good, I see I got part of her jacket with my foot; all right! Now I can bite her! I'm not going to get a chance—she's putting a leather hood on my head. I can't shake it off! I'm doomed. My heart is about to explode. I feel so trapped. So helpless. I don't like being so restrained. I can't use my feet, not enough room to smack her with my wing, the hood won't allow me to open my mouth so I can't use my beak. At least I still have a hold of something. So what are they going to do now? What's that snapping sound? Guess they are breaking the bramble branches I've been holding to free me; might as well let go now; don't want to miss an opportunity to skewer one of them.

They are lifting me. Still can't shake this hood off. They are wrapping a towel or something around me. It's like a straight jacket; this is not fair! If you're going to kill me, get it over with! It sounds enclosed now, like they put me inside something. They let go of my feet! Maybe they changed their minds. If I could just get this hood off, maybe I could escape!

Wonder why, besides scaring the feathers off me, they haven't hurt me? I wonder if maybe they are trying to help me. Maybe they are some of those rehab guys. Well, I guess I'll tolerate them, but I'm still not going to trust them!