Return of the native
Jun 03, 2020
4 minutes
The buck stood on the ride as bold as brass, looking straight at me for perhaps half a minute. No more than a youngster, he was moulting his winter coat and the chestnut red of his summer pelage was just starting to appear through the gaps in what looked like a grey, moth-eaten army blanket. Then, with a flick of his antlers, he trotted off, taking with him the young doe that I had spotted further back in the wood.
Two months ago, there was nothing on the farm but Chinese water deer and a small, elusive group of red hinds. I would catch glimpses of them when I took the dogs out for
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