I’ve seen all sorts of wildlife out at Lake Pueblo State Park’s Redgate trails, from bald eagles to rattlesnakes. And, thanks to the dog’s meanderings, I’ve happened across some expired wildlife, too.

Reina and Rafa occasionally sniff out parts of a dead deer or rabbit and then parade around with their prize or stealthily try to gnaw it, or both, as I yell at them to “leave it!” Over the past seven months, they’ve made a couple of significant discoveries. One was last February when Reina found a dead fox along the Dead Dog trail. Last week, Rafa found the remains of a deer just off the South Shore trail. The deer–it looked to be a mature adult–had long expired, its bones neatly scavenged. The neck and rib cage appeared to be in tact. The skull and lower jaw though, had been separated from the neck. I don’t think it was poached since most of the skeleton, although a bit scattered, lay nearby. And while people do hunt  at the State Park, I’m guessing this deer died from sickness or age. Especially since it was only 20 yards or so from the trail. A hunter could have easily packed it out and a predator, like a mountain lion, would have hauled it further away from the highly used trail.

The fox died last February. Reina found it as the three of us were heading back to the trailhead, about a 100 yards away. It couldn’t have been dead more than two days. The dogs gave it a good once-over and I poked at with my walking stick. Its badly broken right front leg left me wondering if it had hit by a car on the nearby highway. Its injuries and exposure most certainly did the fox in. Over the course of the next four months, I’d stop by to watch as the prairie slowly reclaimed it. Surprisingly, the coyotes and ravens pretty much left it to the insects and weather to break it down, an interesting process to watch, and one that took longer than I thought. It was undisturbed until late spring. Somebody or something dragged it around into its last, fierce stance when I last saw it in May.

There are worse places to die, I suppose. The dead don’t care, but there just seems to be a bit more dignity in laying down to die among the arroyos and piñon than being hit by a car, ending up in a crumpled heap along Colorado 96, then having Animal Services come along to shovel up a broken carcass and tossing it in the back of a pickup truck.