His dog wont be here next year and we all understand, heck, some of us might not be here, so we just toss another rug next to the woodstove and call that a ready made dog bed. With a gray muzzle and two cloudy eyes she waddles over, gives it a few sniffs, lowers her sore hip first onto it, then the rest of one worn out dog, drops.

We get the dog's owner a chair and he sets down almost as hard. He's the last one in our camp to arrive. Before he can finish eating some cold leftovers, everybody helps him get his gear inside, it's more something to do, than actually help our buddy whose been driving for the better part of a day.

He tells us his road story, of endless driving, we give him ours, he asks about our kids or others guys wives, and who gets what stand. We tease him about showing up late so he wouldn't have to split or haul firewood. He pays that bill with a one liter sized bottle that may not make the evening's last call.

We set down our cards, in no time flat, the last guy in, is nodding off. We decide to feed him, and after he gobbles it all up, he wipes his chin, grabs one of his bags and those that snore, sleep upstairs, those that don't, get the main level with the dogs and the woodstove which needs nightly filling to keep us all from freezing. He guides his last bag upstairs and yells back down, "see ya in the morning boys".

Smoke from the woodstove puffs out of the stack pipe just often enough to change the air inside tonight. It's a mixture of pipe tobacco, cigars and over popped popcorn, we could just open a window, but it's a bit chilly tonight, so we live with it and let it linger.

Each one of us sitting here knows its way past our respective bedtimes, but tonight, even if we are tired, we aint calling it a night just yet. We are here, all the guys we think our good guys, the best guys, the guys we have hung with all our lives, came to this little pile of boards nailed together back in the hinter lands to possibly shoot a deer, but most definitely to see each other again, because who knows what tomorrow holds. The trout whisperer