Excerpt:
It was Ranger Karen McKinley Jones in full combat gear and she’d caught us dead-to-rights. She was still more than a hundred yards away when she ordered us to return to the parking lot and we considered making a run for it, but then thought better of it. We met Karen face-to-face a few minutes later. Bruce came bounding out of a ravine ready to slobber all over Ranger Jones’ loden green pants, not to mention her standard issue, Browning 9 mm leather gun belt (complete with gun).
To her credit Ranger Jones was as tolerant and patient as we had the right to hope for. She was, in fact, downright pleasant (and besides I may, in the future, very well break park rules again, so there was nothing inappropriate about doing a little “sucking up” at this point). Karen issued me a “courtesy tag” for entering a “closed area,” in this case the entire park. And she gave Bruce a verbal warning about the dog. We left humbly, promising that if we ever did return to the park while it was closed and let a dog run freely, we’d be more discreet about it.
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