I went out on the marsh this evening to track down the herd. It was blacker than a coalminer’s boot and very wet and squishy down there. I looked in Hoo Brook Pasture, and they weren’t there. I looked along the Northern Corridor, and they weren’t there. I looked around North Pond, and they weren’t there. I looked in the Swamp, and they weren’t there. I looked in North Riverside Pasture and found them tucked up in bed.
Brutus, known as Stabby Cow by the Rangers, now understands that I am the boss of him, shows proper respect when I approach, and moves smartly out of my way without any of his ridiculous posturing. Waynetta stands to attention, Wayne couldn’t care less what I say or what I want him to do, and Tulip answers my whistle with a moo. Sometimes, when I’m walking the canal tow path, on the other side of the river, I whistle to the herd and all their ears stand to attention and they face me in acknowledgment – Tulip moos.
I saw Red Dog mooching about in the beam of my head torch and the bright eyes of a dozen or more deer. There were also a few tawny owls hooting and tooting.