The buck stops here

“Blasted thing keeps eating my roses.” I looked up from my copy of Trout & Salmon to see my mother coming in through the back door with a basket of freshly picked carrots from the vegetable garden. She was shaking her head in despair.

“Are the rabbits back?” I asked. “Not the rabbits,” she replied with a tone that implied it was an absurd suggestion. “The muntjac, of course.”

I have to say this was an error on my part. My mother had been telling the family about this mysterious muntjac that creeps into the garden and devours her plants, but no one had ever seen it for themselves, including my mother. My father had taken it one step further and set trail cameras up round the flower bed to catch