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[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Married men can understand...."}]

Bonus video 7 12 24

Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>Bonus Video: Friday, July 12, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Married men can understand....

Bonus Video: Friday, July 12, 2024

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's managing editor, Greg Johnson.

Greg Johnson

Crime & Courts

CHEYENNE — For those wondering how a dog could pull off shooting a woman with a shotgun while stopped for gas in Nebraska, the answer is simple — it pulled the trigger.

That’s the only way a loaded, properly functioning shotgun could go off, said Arthur Huckfeldt and Ryan Allen at Frontier Arms and Supply in Cheyenne.

[{"type":"text","text":"Simply bumping or jostling a shotgun won’t set it off, said Huckfeldt."}]

“That’s impossible. The trigger has to be manipulated,” he told Cowboy State Daily on Wednesday while demonstrating with a shotgun in the East Lincolnway gun shop.

If someone were to say their shotgun went off because it was knocked over or kicked around by a dog, “that someone is lying out their ass,” he added. “That wouldn’t do it.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"‘Heard A Shotgun Blast’"}]

Huckfeldt and Allen, who owns the shop, were weighing in on the question people are asking after a Saturday incident when a dog shifting in the back seat of a truck parked at a convenience store fired a loaded shotgun.

The blast put a hole through the front passenger door of the truck, and a single pellet traveled to a nearby intersection, hitting a woman in a car parked at a stoplight.

“The owner of the truck had pulled into the convenience store to purchase merchandise,” says the Scottsbluff Police Department in a statement about the incident.

“While the passenger of the truck was standing near the front passenger side door, a dog in the back seat moved from one side of the vehicle to the other,” the statement says. “During that movement, the dog triggered a shotgun that had a live shell in the chamber, causing the firearm to discharge.”

Craig Grass owns the Short Stop gas station and convenience store, and was working when the dog fired the shotgun. He told Cowboy State Daily that he heard the blast and knew right away what it was.

“The people (who came in the truck) were in the store shopping and the wife went outside,” he said. “They thought they heard a shotgun blast, but nobody really knew for sure. Then they saw the door had a hole in it.”

The blast through the door was toward the gas pumps, Grass said, adding that he wasn’t worried pellets from the shotgun would touch off an explosion.

“The pumps are safe and really well-built,” he said. “It’s not like in the movies where you touch it and it blows up. There’s a lot of safety built into those pumps, they cost a lot and there wasn’t really any danger.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"‘Put It In The Case’"}]

While answering how a dog can fire a shotgun is easy — pull the trigger, remember? — there are a lot of missing variables in the Nebraska scenario, both Huckfeldt and Allen said.

The Scottsbluff Police Department didn’t respond to a Cowboy State Daily request for more information, like the breed and size of the dog, model of the shotgun, and whether the gun had a safety that was activated.

While they have no clue about those first two nuggets of information, Huckfeldt and Allen both said if the safety was on, the gun wouldn’t have gone off.

“If a 60-pound dog engaged with that trigger, it’d go off, like if it catches a claw or pad in that trigger guard,” Allen said.

[{"type":"text","text":"It would only take about 3-5 pounds of pressure, added Huckfeldt."}]

Even then, “I would think it would be really hard for a dog to shoot a shotgun,” he said. “The dog would have to have a small (paw) pad, unless it was a small dog. But that’s just a lot of conjecture.”

Both agree that what happened Saturday at the Short Stop in Scottsbluff was “very unusual.”

[{"type":"text","text":"“But Nebraska’s weird,” Huckfeldt added."}]

While it’s fun to joke about a dog shooting a shotgun, it’s only so because nobody was seriously hurt. One thing the Cheyenne gun experts said they know for sure is that if the shotgun had been stored properly in the back seat of the truck, it wouldn’t have fired.

“If you have firearms, they should be secured, put it in the case or in a rack,” Allen said. “Not haphazardly lying around in the back seat.”

He said the lesson here is, “Don’t be a dum-dum, or as my dad would say, don’t be a shithead.”

Shotgun pressure Frontier Arms and Supply 5 27 26

<title>Dog Shoots Woman With Shotgun At Scottsbluff, Nebraska Convenience Store | Cowboy State Daily</title>

For those wondering how a dog shot a woman with a shotgun in Nebraska this past weekend, gun experts say it pulled the trigger. If someone says the shotgun went off because it was knocked over or kicked around by a dog, they are "lying out their ass."

Dog Shoots Woman With Shotgun At Scottsbluff, Nebraska Convenience Store

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's general assignment reporter, Clair McFarland.

Clair McFarland

Courts

A local woman is suing the Green River Police Department and Wyoming Department of Family Services officials on claims she 

 a malicious child abuse prosecution last year. She was arrested for DUI one day before her lawsuit was filed. 

 to wake her 5-year-old sister Annabelle, who lay on their babysitter's couch in Kemmerer with her pulse fading after a brutal beating.

Annabelle died hours later from injuries the girls’ babysitter, Cheri Marler, inflicted on her with her hands, feet, and a wooden spoon.

 more than a year later, and a judge sentenced Marler to life in prison without parole.

Investigators at the time observed numerous injuries on the 4-year-old as well, court documents say. 

 with her foster mother Vallory Dodson, and Dodson’s husband.

[{"type":"text","text":"Dodson was not involved in the Kemmerer incident. "}]

[{"type":"text","text":"Bruises And A Black Eye"}]

An evidentiary affidavit filed in December 2024 in Sweetwater County Circuit Court says the girl’s teacher in Green River voiced concerns that autumn about bruises, a black eye covered with thick makeup, and a broken arm sustained by the then-kindergarten-age girl.

The girl told Green River Police Department Detective Martha Holzgrafe that November that she’d tripped while walking. She also said she’d been hurt 

pushed on the playground, the affidavit says.

About five weeks later, the girl gave Holzgrafe another interview and said Dodson had grabbed her by the ribs and thrown her to the ground. 

By then, says a court filing from Dodson's counsel, the state had placed the girl in her teacher's home. 

Sweetwater County Chief Criminal Deputy Attorney Micaela Lira charged Dodson with felony child abuse Dec. 20, 2024, and police arrested Dodson, who was reportedly 

Lira asked the court to dismiss the charge permanently the following June. 

She says she did so to guard against re-traumatizing the child by making her testify. 

“While preparing for trial, the state met with multiple individuals, witnesses, support members for the alleged victim, and the alleged victim herself,” wrote Lira in the June 5, 2025, motion to the Sweetwater County District Court. “

"After consultations with the alleged victim’s current caregivers (I find) any form of testifying in this matter would be detrimental to the 

 of the alleged victim and may (undo) the growth and healing she has 

District Court Judge Suzannah Robinson granted Lira’s request and dismissed the case the next day.

Lira reiterated her point in a Tuesday interview, telling Cowboy State Daily that the girl was emphatic about not testifying, “because if she did, it would bring back all the memories of what happened to her when she lived there.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Sweetwater County Attorney Daniel Erramouspe echoed that."}]

“What we put in the motion is accurate,” he said. “It wasn’t something we did lightly. There are rare occasions where that’s actually the case — where testifying is absolutely worse than what would have happened (otherwise). You know, than getting justice in this particular case.”

The prosecutors filed that motion to dismiss the charge about one year before the Wyoming Legislature passed a law allowing children in cases of violence to testify via a video link and bring comfort objects or a therapy dog into the courtroom with them.  

Now Dodson is suing the city of Green River, the Wyoming Department of Family Services, and various officials, saying authorities undertook her arrest and prosecution without probable cause and violated her rights.

Her civil complaint alleges a counterpoint to Lira’s motion, saying that, at least in DFS’s administrative handling of the incident, the child abuse case against Dodson lacked substance. 

The complaint says investigators didn’t request the girl’s medical records until months after filing the charge, and that multiple doctors opined that the girl’s broken arm was consistent with an injury sustained from falling.

The expert Dodson hired in her own case, Dr. Wade Jensen, reportedly said the break was most consistent with “a fall from a standing height.” 

The complaint says the emergency room doctor who'd tended the girl's broken arm did not report any abuse.  

[{"type":"text","text":"Little Did He Know"}]

Dodson’s attorney Jason Gay filed the civil complaint on her behalf in the U.S. District Court for Wyoming on May 11.

Gay didn’t know at the time, he told Cowboy State Daily on Tuesday, that Dodson had been arrested on suspicion of driving drunk with a toddler in her car one day earlier.

“That was a coincidence in timing,” said Gay Tuesday. “The lawsuit had been pending for a while.”

He’d sent the state and the city drafts of the complaint before its filing, and before that arrest, Gay added.

As for the DUI charge, Gay noted that his client is 30, saw her now-dropped child abuse case spread via the media, and after a “long, drawn-out process… ultimately dismissed.”

He pointed to her relative lack of criminal history before the felony case was filed and the media attention followed. 

“And I think you’re seeing the impact that that can have on a person,” Gay added.

Dodson remained in the Sweetwater County Detention Center on a $30,000 bond as of Tuesday, the Sweetwater County Sheriff’s Office confirmed. Court documents claim she rear-ended a Toyota 4Runner while driving drunk in Rock Springs.

A woman in the 4Runner was temporarily hospitalized, and Dodson at first faced the felony of DUI causing a serious bodily injury – which carries a penalty of up to a decade in prison.

But Lira dropped that charge upon the realization that the victim’s injuries weren't serious enough to carry the charge, court documents say.

Still, Dodson faces three remaining charges of DUI with a child passenger, improperly buckling a child under 9 and following another vehicle too closely.

Dodson pleaded not guilty to those three charges May 20. She could face up to a year in prison and fines if convicted.

The alleged crash happened two days after Dodson pleaded guilty for breach of peace – in a case where she was originally charged in March with domestic battery, on claims she attacked her husband with his wristwatch after an argument about his inability to cook quinoa.

She had received six months' unsupervised probation in that case, with the threat of jail time if she failed probation.  

Dodson’s lawsuit accuses Green River Police Department officials of 

It accuses DFS officials of exacerbating that detention by disregarding evidence that didn’t support “their theory of abuse,” and it accuses investigators from both agencies of advancing a malicious prosecution against Dodson.

It also accuses DFS officials of abuse of process and violating Dodson’s rights.

It accuses officials from both agencies of conspiring against Dodson to interfere with her imminent adoption of the girl.

The civil complaint says Dodson took the 6-year-old girl to the emergency room on Oct. 17, 2024, due to pain in the girl’s right arm.

At that time, the girl had indicated another child at school pulled her arm, the complaint says. Dodson had been the girl’s foster parent and was finalizing her adoption of both that girl and the girl’s other, surviving sister.

The complaint says the doctor diagnosed the girl with an arm fracture. Because Dodson was a foster parent, the doctor reportedly contacted DFS to tell the agency about the diagnosis and gain authorization to perform a surgery on the girl.

One month later, Holzgrafe responded to the elementary school to investigate the girl’s black eye.

The girl said her eye was injured while she was playing with a dog, “and the Wyoming Department of Family Services later confirmed this to be the case,” the document says.

[{"type":"text","text":"School staff also told Holzgrafe about the girl’s October arm injury."}]

Both the girl and Dodson said the girl had injured her arm while walking home from the bus.

“Holzgrafe chose not to preserve the video and it was deleted by the school district,” the complaint alleges.

For a few weeks after the judge dismissed Dodson’s criminal case, Wyoming was still waging administrative child protection proceedings against her, court documents say.

But that ended that August when DFS declared its investigators’ findings “unsubstantiated,” the complaint adds. 

Dodson’s lawsuit accuses six people, all in their official capacities, of wrongdoing, as well as the city of Green River.

[{"type":"text","text":"Those six are:"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"• DFS Director Korin Schmidt"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"• Green River Police Chief Shaun Sturlaugson"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"• DFS social worker Victoria Collett"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"• DFS special investigator Cassie Torres"}]

[{"type":"text","text":"• DFS quality improvement manager Lisa Bauman-Brown."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"The case is ongoing. "}]

20240526 green river 2088

<title>Green River Woman Sues Cops, DFS For Malicious Prosecution In Child Abuse Case | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A Green River woman is suing police and child protection officials for malicious prosecution. Prosecutors charged her with child abuse, then dismissed the charge seven months later, saying they did not want to re-traumatize the child in court.

Green River Woman Sues Cops, DFS For Malicious Prosecution In Child Abuse Case

Leah Veress

Outdoors

[{"type":"text","text":"“Leah, get up. The horses got out.”"}]

I burrowed my head deeper into my sleeping bag against the cold, feigning sleep. Outside my synthetic-filled cocoon, my tentmate was shuffling around, unzipping her sleeping bag.

In the distance, a creek was roaring, and horses were whinnying, and dull bells were ringing.

“You put the bells on the mares,” Matt, a contractor who grew up locally, explained to me the previous day. “They’re the trouble makers. If they get out, the rest will follow.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Like a queen bee, I had thought."}]

Suddenly, I was fully awake. Shit, the horses got out! Deep in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, dozens of miles from the nearest road, two days into a five-day trip, the horses and mules were our only way to pack out our camp.

I threw open my sleeping bag, pulled on my jeans, grabbed my headlamp and bear spray, and crawled out of the tent.

Despite the darkness, camp was alive with motion. Tent doors flew open, riding clothes were thrown over sleepwear, and saddles were slung on the remaining horses. I clicked my headlamp to the highest setting, blinking hard to adjust my eyes to the low light and shake the sleep from my mind.

Two horses and two mules came into view, tethered to trees by their lead ropes. That left eight animals missing. Lights scanned like spotlights as horses whinnied and the mules brayed, casting an eerie, wail-like sound into the darkness.

As Matt and Antonio, a seasonal outdoors worker, mounted their horses to track the escaped equestrians, the outfitter turned to me.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Stay here and watch the animals in case any trouble comes.”"}]

Two days earlier, our posse of five mules, seven horses, an outfitter, two contractors, a nurse, an outdoorsman, and a reporter embarked on an extended weekend pack trip.

New to horseback riding, having taken a multi-year hiatus from the backcountry, and largely unfamiliar with my companions, I was immediately overwhelmed with a deep appreciation for their company, keen to learn as much as I could.

Most members of the group had worked for the outfitter at one point, spending a summer taking dude rides or a fall guiding hunts in the Absaroka-Beartooth. Cumulatively, they had more than a century of experience. With no dudes on this particular trip, they were afforded a unique opportunity to let loose, exchanging banter and stories freely.

Food packed into Yeti coolers and Milwaukee Packouts, tents and personal items loaded onto mules, horses saddled, bridled, and ready to go, we set out on the 20-mile ride into camp around 11 a.m., three hours after our target departure time.

“I hope you all brought headlamps,” Hazel, a life-long outdoorswoman and practicing nurse, joked.

As the miles wore on, I got to know Cherokee, the 10-year-old paint I was riding.

The cadence of her stride set the pace of my day. As we passed lakes and paralleled streams, the reflection of the sunlight glimmered with every step she took.

I watched as her ears twitched and tail swooshed, shooing away early-season mosquitoes. I noticed the way her sides flared out as we rode up ridges, and the snorts she released to clear the dry, dusty air from her nostrils.

I sneezed in tandem. I learned to anticipate the way she leapt over streams, favoring dry land for the muddy trail most of the other animals trudged through.

As we rode in, the outfitter narrated, sharing personal and historical anecdotes about the route. He had been riding in these mountains twice as long as I had been alive. His stories chronicled the time Teddy Roosevelt spent in the wilderness, the history of resource extraction in the area, and childhood stories that echoed with the ring of universal human experience.

He led a string of five mules with one hand, and the reins of his paint gelding Cabaret and a Coors Banquet in the other. Every time the string would stall, he’d kick up Cabaret.

“I’m not even upset about the mules stopping,” he said. “I’m just pissed it’s spilling my beer.”

Packed in the panniers were three boxes of wine, and two 30-packs of Coors.

Matt rode ahead of the group, scouting the path where the trail fell out. When my borrowed Stetson hat blew off my head for the umpteenth time, and I started rolling my saddle getting back on after retrieving it, he looped back, ensuring everything was OK. He rode this way the whole trip, scouting and keeping everyone together, offering me horsemanship tips over the five days.

By the time we arrived at camp, nestled between a mountain ridge and a swollen creek, the sun had started to descend, and the air temperature fell.

As we dismounted and started to untack the stock, the outfitter walked over to me, his back bent permanently 10 degrees forward from a lifetime of riding, and showed me how to take off the bridal, the cinch, and the breast collar, hands on autopilot from decades of repetition.

“Always unbuckle from the left,” he said, looping and tying the cinch strap like a necktie. “And put your saddle blanket upside down on top of the saddle so it can air out.”

I nodded, making mental notes I later translated to my journal. In this same way, I learned how to tie the quick-release knot necessary to tether her lead rope to a tree (always at neck height or higher), and how to bridle and saddle Cherokee.

Any time I faltered, someone was there to help, offering demonstrations and heuristics.

Once the horses were brushed, untacked, and put to pasture behind an electric fence, camp was erected, illuminated by our headlamps.

Orange, yellow, and green tents stood in the conifer forest like presents under a Christmas tree, packed close enough together to provide perceived protection in grizzly country, but spread apart far enough to create a semblance of privacy.

By the time I crawled into my sleeping bag, the day had stretched over 18 hours. Stomach full of chili reheated over a camp fire, legs and back sore from riding, and my heart happy to be in the backcountry with good company, I drifted off to sleep.

Over the next three days, we cooked all of our meals over an open fire: Corn, potatoes, steak, eggs, hot dogs, pasta, Jiffy Pop. Blue and white enamel cookware was charred black by the soot and washed with murky water retrieved from the creek.

By day three, we had built a second ring. One for talking around, one for cooking over.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Less pressure on the chefs,” the outfitter said."}]

Stumps, cut from felled trees with hatchets, rocks, and a single REI pop-up chair surrounded the talking ring, each a chamber for smoke roulette.

As conversation drifted from shared memories to political beliefs and everything in between, laughter permeated the air, infectious and heavy. Hours passed this way, with the campfire burning steadily, fueled by a seemingly never-ending pile of deadfall, blanketing our dust-covered clothes in a comforting aroma of smoke.

As the week lumbered on, we trekked to nearby lakes, waterfalls, and ridgelines, riding single file, weaving through the landscape like a condensed centipede.

With no cell service and limited charging opportunities, our phones transformed from universal tools into cameras and jukeboxes. Temporarily entirely relieved of the worries and responsibilities a tower connection carried, I contentedly diverted my attention to the people, animals, and space immediately around me.

As we explored the mountains, valleys, meadows, and waterways, I found myself overwhelmed by gratitude. Gratitude for the head on my shoulders and the earth beneath my feet. Gratitude for the people around me, their humor, banter, and willingness to share their wilderness experience and expertise with me.

On day three, we rode to an alpine lake, dipping into willow-blanketed meadows full of bear claw-marked trees, before climbing to snow-covered lodgepole stands. For lunch, we ate sandwiches: PB&J, bologna, turkey, Velveeta, and drank filtered river water.

I watched as Larry, who had moved to Montana from New Hampshire a decade ago and never looked back, and the outfitter fished for cutthroat, one brandishing a spin rod and the other a fly rod.

“I’ve caught eight,” Larry touted, less than a minute after hitting the water.

“That’s OK, pal,” the outfitter called back, holding his spin rod. “One of these days we’ll teach you to count.”

As they fished, Hazel and Antonio read, lazily sprawling out on dried grass.

“I hope there aren’t ticks up here,” Hazel said, resting her book on her lap, pages spread, spine up.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Don’t say that word,” said Antonio, half-joking."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"“Tick, tick, tick,” she taunted."}]

I laughed and rested my back against a felled tree, settling my weight into the dirt below. As ants crawled up my arms, I watched them, making no motion to swat them away. I pulled open my journal and started to sketch the lake.

My pen traced the contours of the landscape, filling the page with ink. I reveled in the warmth the unobscured sunshine cast on my face. Closing the book, I tilted my face upward, and drifted off to sleep.

Despite cold evening temperatures, late nights, and early mornings, the trip brought some of the best rest I had experienced in months. Between being lulled to sleep by the steady roaring of the creek, eating hearty, fire-cooked meals, drinking fresh water, and filling fleeting moments with laughter, this experience felt like a turning point.

[{"type":"text","text":"Exactly the direction I was pivoting toward, I still don’t know."}]

Before this trip, I had spent fewer than 10 cumulative hours on horseback. It had been years since I had been in the backcountry, and even longer since I had felt this level of adoration for the wilderness. Here, I was surrounded by people who made the outdoors their life, and stock that knew these mountains like the back of their hooves.

In this company, in a camp surrounded by sage, pines, glacier lilies, shooting stars, bears, deer, bison and wolves, I found comfort. It was their confidence, good nature, and competence in the backcountry that kept me calm as I stood watch in camp after the horses broke down the electric fence and disappeared into the night.

Nestled next to a Douglas fir tree, keeping a careful eye on the four remaining animals, I watched as the sky slowly turned forget-me-not-blue against the gray mountain ridges and valleys.

Beside me, I heard a snap. I jerked my head up, my headlamp catching the eyeshine of Wrangler, a 12-year-old bay quarterhorse. As her head lurched toward me, I groped at the air, missing her lead. She beelined down the trail, and across the creek, following the other escapees to a meadow that lay beyond.

[{"type":"text","text":"The outfitter’s words echoed in my head."}]

Resigned to my watchpost, I waited. The symphony of chaos continued around me, swirling like a storm cloud. Horses and mules snorted, pawing the ground anxiously as the creek our camp shouldered roared, angry and swollen with spring rainfall and runoff.

Slowly, color returned to the earth as first light careened down the ridgeline into camp. As I flicked off my headlamp, the faint ring of bells returned, followed by the clomping of hooves against dirt and rock.

[{"type":"text","text":"“We got ‘em,” said Matt, leading a string of mules."}]

I checked my watch. 5:36 a.m. Just like that, it was all over, less than 40 minutes after it began.

“We should let them loose to graze,” the outfitter joked, signifying that the danger had passed.

For the remainder of the trip, the livestock were tied up at night. In this way, I learned that horses sleep standing up.

“If they’re confident they’re safe, they’ll sleep lying down,” Larry told me. “They’re prey animals, and they always want to be ready to run.”

He kept his horses in a corral on his property. He said it took them months to feel comfortable enough to sleep laying down.

By the time we rode out on the final day, the coolers and packouts were lighter. Clothes were saturated with dust, grease and smoke. Animals were well-grazed on native grasses that blanketed the meadow serving as their temporary pasture.

Anticipation for the trip’s commencement rested heavy on everyone’s chests.

The ride out took more than 10 hours, culminating in a steep climb back to the outfitters. Tired, sweaty, and hungry, we untacked the animals, moved them to the corral, unpacked the mules, loaded our cars, hugged goodbye, and dispersed, like ashes in a campfire pit.

[{"type":"text","text":"The names of the horses have been changed to protect their identity."}]

Horses 1 5 26 26

<title>'Tonight The Horses Sleep Standing Up': Lessons From Five Nights In The Absaroka-Beartooth… | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Suddenly, I was fully awake. The horses got out! Deep in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, dozens of miles from the nearest road, two days into a five-day trip, the horses and mules were our only way to pack out our camp.

'Tonight The Horses Sleep Standing Up': Lessons From Five Nights In The Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness

Heinz mark

Mark Heinz

Wildlife

At roughly 2.5 years old, a female grizzly called Miracle is at the age where most bears are just striking out on their own.

After losing both of her siblings to a male grizzly’s attack last spring and then splitting from her mother at an unusually tender age, Miracle has been on her own for nearly a year.

She was spotted Sunday in Grand Teton National Park, passing through the same spot in the Colter Bay area where she’d been seen almost a year to day prior.

It’s one of a few appearances that Miracle has made so far this spring, and she appears to be in good health, wildlife photographer Marcela Herdova told Cowboy State Daily.

“She survived the winter all on her own which is really great,” Herdova said.

Hanging out near Colter Bay Village might have been what initially brought trouble to Miracle, her siblings and their famous mother, Grizzly 1063.

But on Sunday, Miracle didn’t seem to have in any interest in hanging out around Colter Bay; she was apparently using it as a shortcut between wooded areas, Herdova said.

After losing both of her siblings to a male grizzly’s attack last spring and then splitting from her mother at an unusually tender age, the young grizzly named Miracle survived winter on her own and showed up at Colter Bay on Sunday.

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