Familiarity breeds contempt, and Terry Bull has a look about him that says he has his eye on me. He will test me before too long.
Earlier in the week I followed a vixen through the South Riverside Pasture. I could only move when the fox had its back to me. I was wearing a green cagoule with its spacious hood pulled tightly over my head and my hands deep in its pockets. The herd stood behind and dogged my every step, in extended line. The lead beast nudged me with its nose many times. I looked behind regularly to make sure that it wasn’t Terry. I bet not many people can claim to have followed a fox for an hour through long grass, with a herd of fifteen cattle on their heels.