In the car I was nervous and excited to be out with Brody, I blabbered on nonstop. I never really asked him about himself. His proximity messes with my nervous system.

Now that we’re in the field, I feel less flustered. At our chiropractor's, when he’s typing away on his phone, he has this brooding quality. It’s both intimidating and intriguing. In the field, he’s confident and surprisingly easy to be with. He’s not a big talker, but I’m used to being in the field with other wildlife biologists, and we don’t talk much. We’re focused on the job.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Dead animals. As we walk past the bushes, I look to see if there’re any carcasses. Most animals hide under a bush if they’re sick. I also look for scat. The big carnivores like to leave it on the trail. They want all the other animals to know this is their territory. Cats will kill a deer, eat some of it, dig a shallow hole, and cover the carcass with leaves and dirt so other animals won’t take it. Unfortunately, if animals can’t see or smell the carcass, humans won’t either. The likelihood of us finding what my cat ate is rather low.”

It feels like home when I’m walking through the mountains. The backcountry is comfortable and energizing. We continue walking. The steady sound of Brody’s breathing lets me know he’s right behind me. As the morning progresses, I periodically check my map to ensure we are on our lion’s path.

“We can stop for lunch at the top of the ridge. We’ll use its vantage point for reconnaissance,” I tell him.

Not surprisingly, Brody easily maintains my pace as we head up the steep mountain on our way to the top of the ridge. The entire time, my whole body is aware of his presence. When we reach the top, I take off my pack, and put down my gear. It feels good to have it off my back. I stretch long like a cat, then search for a suitable rock to sit on. When I find a good place, I pull out my water and lunch. My eyes gravitate over to Brody, who’s following my lead as he takes off his pack. Then he pulls off his long-sleeved shirt. He’s a lean guy. His body doesn’t look so out of the ordinary covered up. But in a T-shirt, I realize how jacked he is. It’s a hot summer day and his sweat has bled through, making the fabric mold to his form. The T-shirt hugs his arms and chest. I’m glad I’m wearing a hat and sunglasses to hide my reaction though I wonder if he notices me drooling. I start thinking about suggesting we do a tick check. I sure would enjoy checking him out in close range. If I were more like my sister Jazz, we'd be half-way undressed by now, looking for those little blood suckers. Unfortunately, I’m too conservative. I sit down on top of the rock I found, wondering what to say.

Brody sits on a rock near me and pulls out some bars. I offer him some of my homemade trail mix. He takes a handful and gives me a nod of thanks. I’m starting to learn that Brody uses nods in place of words.

“Why do you go to the chiropractor so often?” I ask as it hits me; he never did tell me about himself.

“You’re there as often,” he responds.

“True, but I already told you why I show up.”

He responds by moving into the hunched position of a guy reading his phone.

“Too much of your day in that position?”

He shrugs.

“If that’s the reason, seventy percent of the people in this country would start their day off getting adjusted,” I point out.

“I’ve also had traumas.”

“Traumas? What, you came home from school early and saw your parents doing it?”

“Not that kind of trauma.”

“Then you need to give me a little more detail. Without details, my mind wanders in mysterious directions.”

“Trauma with vehicles.”

“Let me guess, you crashed your motorcycle? Let go of the rope when you were surfing behind a car? Or maybe you were street racing?”

“Bad landing of a helicopter, thrown out of a Humvee.”

“Really?”

“Jumped one time too many out of the back of a plane.”

“No way, that makes you sound like double-oh-seven.”

“He never gets injured. I wasn’t always a desk jockey. I was a soldier. It was fun, it was intense.”

“It sounds like you’ve had multiple accidents. Why would you go back for more?”

“Working in the Army creates strong bonds among the men in the squad it’s powerful. It’s the true meaning of teamwork and brotherhood. Injuries don’t matter, the last thing you want is to leave your men.”

“But you left.”

“Wars don’t last forever, and I was ready for something different.”

“Silicon Valley, is that what’s different?”

“It’s very different.”

“So, what do you actually do?”

“Have you ever heard of ClosedDoor?”

“Yeah, it’s what my dad used to yell when the air conditioning was on. Would you kids close the door!”

His eyes pinch.

“I guess you mean a different kind of closed door.”

“That’s where I work.”

“All you Silicon Valley folks have such odd names for companies.”

“You’ve got to find a name that’s not taken.”

“Is working at ClosedDoor as cool as my job?” Lifting my hands up to the sky, I breathe in the warm summer air. “Most of the time, this is my office. You know, there aren’t too many jobs where you get paid to spend your day collecting cat poop.”

“Getting paid to pick up cat poop is a unique job.”

“Don’t laugh, I actually got a PhD in cat poop.”

“How did you choose cat poop as a field of study?”

“My advisor. If I’d have gone to a different school or had a different advisor, I might be studying brown bear, elk, or condor poop.”

“Glad to see my tax dollars are being well spent on scientists gathering poop.”

“You laugh, but the environment is important to our daily lives. Apex predators are good predictors of something going wrong. And I’ll have you know, cat poop is one of the most glamorous poops out there. One of my friends from school studies lizard poop.”

“When you all meet up, do you say my poop is better than your poop?”

“We say my poop is more interesting than your poop. It’s a field of study ripe for ten-year-olds. Now it’s your turn. How did you choose your major?”

“Engineering, I was good at math. My dad was an engineer, so it seemed logical. I went to the same school as my old man and got the same major. In the Army, I became interested in computer security. Actually, I got my master's in it. The Army is a good place to work if you’re serious about security. When I got out, I was surprised how lax most corporate IT departments are, especially when it comes to computer security.”

“That’s what you're doing with all your texts and e-mails, corporate security?”

He nods.

“Let me ask you something,” I say. “I bought something at Home Depot. The next thing I hear...they had been hacked and my bank sent me a whole new credit card. Is that what you do? Help companies that get hacked?”

“No, my customers don’t get hacked. Stories like yours are what makes it easy for my company to sell our services. That’s what executives fear, hacking. They all know that the last day of their job is the day their picture is in the paper for a security breach.”

“Is it fun? When you do security…whatever…are you having fun?”

“I love what I do. It’s a great challenge. The last three years have been a thrill ride. At the end of the day, I’m not exhausted, I’m exhilarated.”

“Then we’re both lucky, we both have jobs we love.”

I tug at my backpack and pull out two pairs of binoculars. “With your Army background, you should be good at using these.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Anything that stands out.”

“Same as in the Army.”

“We’re in the backcountry. This area doesn’t have houses or hiking trails. See if you can spot anything that doesn’t fit in. It might be different color foliage, dead plants, a patch or a clearing, a tent, or even a vehicle, though I have no idea how they’d get one back here. Anything that seems off needs to be investigated.”

The two of us spend the next twenty minutes sitting next to each other, scanning the area. The warmth of Brody’s body radiates off him.

“Nothing stands out. Do you see anything?” I ask.

He hands me back my binoculars as he shakes his head.

Another pregnant pause….

“We should get back on the trail.” I finally say.

“Being out here is good,” he murmurs as he scans the horizon.

“Yeah, it is good.” I pull out my clipboard and topo maps to make a note about what we’ve observed. “Now let’s see where my cat went next.”

Brody moves close to me. I flinch from his proximity. He looks over my shoulder and draws his finger along the line of her path. He places a hand on my shoulder, which causes a tingle to run through me. He moves me, so the view of the area beneath us, aligns with the signal we're receiving, and the topo map we’re reading.

“Looks like she headed down this way. She’s smart, she took the best path down.” And he releases his hand from my shoulder; the coolness from the air is surprising.

 

After a few miles of walking, I spot scat. “Finally, something to tag.” I crouch down. Brody gets down next to me. “If you were my intern I’d ask you what kind of scat this is.”

He grabs a twig and prods at the scat. “I don’t see gray fur or teeth, no field mouse parts. No seeds. It looks to be the size of big dog poop, but it’s entirely full of fur. Based on what you said earlier, I’d guess this is mountain lion scat.”

“Yes, it definitely looks like mountain lion scat. It could be my girl’s.”

“I thought you said they didn’t share their territory.”

“An Alpha male shares his territory with several females.”

After checking the map and the telemetry signal to make sure we’re still following our cat, we reach an area full of tangled undergrowth. “This is the terrain I like the least. Watch out for Poison Oak.”

We make slow progress as we wade through the bushes. Finally, the vegetation starts to thin out and we come to a grove of bigger trees.

“Hey Brody, look at this."

“It’s a tree.”

“That’s been heavily marked by a male. See the long, parallel claw marks?” I take a picture of the tree and mark the location on my GPS. “See if you can find any scat. I’m sure he’s left pee, but I bet he also left scat.” I get down on my haunches and search the ground.

“I think this is old scat.”

“Good eyes.” I reach into the pocket of my cargo pants and pull out a bag. I record the bag’s number on the data sheet and take a GPS point. “This scat is a couple of weeks old. Our records show the dominant male was in this area then. Now I’m wondering if someone was after our alpha male.”

 

We hike for another hour. “Her track winds back a bit to where we left the truck. I think we should head back.”

“Already?”

“It’s two in the afternoon. We’ve been out for six hours.”