My town, the animals, and the war

(This is Part-3; for Part-2, go here)

I haven’t seen my dog Jim or Benny the Wolf for the past two weeks.

Last week, FBI and Homeland Security agents showed up in full force. They hung around town for a couple of days talking with residents. Taking the temperature of the proposed federal buyout of the town and the land. Then, with no announcement, they left.

Tank, our police chief, formally resigned, and went to see relatives in Missouri. Deputy Mike, a young guy with a small dairy farm, took over the job.

MONDAY, APRIL 8: Jim finally showed up. He was a mess, covered in dirt and mud. We went out in back of my cabin and I hosed him down, picked off the stubborn gunk, and dried him with towels. He walked into the house, lay down in front of the fireplace and slept.

When he woke up, he told me he, Benny and his pack, and several bears had been digging by an abandoned farmhouse near Olsen’s cave. They found a partial concrete structure, kept going down past that, and came upon five old large bombs.