I don't pick up sign generally until around the creek. But I got some very nice buck prints in the sand around the creek. This is the point things start going downhill. She gets the scent and then rolls in the prints, obliterating them. She then flushes and chases a good sized water moccasin, preventing a good shot. I'm not fast in those braces. They may be a miracle but they're not made for speed.
I'm upset, snake tastes great and I want a set of moccasin skins to boot but they're not today's quarry. I keep on across the creek. When across, I try to remember which way the cut is from there. As I ponder, I notice a tree frog on a branch.
Tree frogs are very, very special to my wife and I. When my little boy was alive, I caught him a tree frog and carried it in in a bucket to him. You would have thought that boy would have split his face grinning. He crowed every time it jumped, which with his disabilities was quite a feat. He'd do his happy wiggle (he was mostly paralyzed) and all of a sudden it jumped on him. It decided he was a tree and he decided it needed licking, just like everything else he saw. It escaped but he crowed nonetheless.
After he passed, when we missed him especially we would find a frog. They would be on windows, on cars, in the mailbox, all sorts of places. We started calling them Snort-frogs. We still find them when we miss him a bunch or need reassurance.
This guy was pointing South, and I took that as a sign. I went the direction the frog pointed. The Great Spirit sends messengers, we just miss most of them.