Pine and birch, with a path through which is mostly dry except for the muddy bits. Herself put on heavyweight outdoor footwear but I simply trod carefully... the white moccasins are hardly muddied.
Fallow deer are incredibly well camouflaged at this time of year. Herself spotted one moving about 100 yds away through the trees... it turned out to be a herd of 60-plus animals, which gradually, then suddenly, evaporated in that way they have, and were gone.
We had gone to see the bluebells which are a sorry sight this year, many cropped it is said by these same deer. Severely curbing the deer seems a bit excessive just to get the bluebells back. In any case that means shooting a lot of them. There's a suitable rifle I think, but you have to get quite close to shoot them with buckshot from a shotgun, which is illegal anyway. And I've lost my bloodlust. I'm afraid nature is taking its course for the time being.
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Mrs Lyg's family live in Ayrshire and as often as not we see one or two roe deer cropping the grass on the verge of the M77 as it passes Pollok Park in Glasgow (this is in the early afternoon as well)
Only a matter of time til there's mince'n'chunks all over the carriageway...
Last edited by: Lygonos on Wed 27 Apr 16 at 16:45
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I add in all humility that I am probably too shaky to do a buckshot job now. When you're in your thirties you still have enough killer instinct not to alert the prey with an untoward or too-quick movement. It takes considerable restraint and killer cunning to keep the movements slow enough to pass below the animal's 'movement radar' (as it were). These days I just stagger and stumble about.
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I've never been able to kill stuff. Both my girls hunt, but I don't even kill spiders. I certainly couldn't kill something like a deer.
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I often see deer around here when I'm 'walking the dog'. Saw one the other night, or should I say my Pointer saw one and alerted me to the fact.
It froze when I lit it up with my quite-powerful Clulite, then darted orf into the darkness. No doubt some bod will fill it full of lead sooner or later. I often hear the BANG of shotguns late at night :(
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>> deer ... evaporated in that way they have, and were gone.
Elephants can do that as well, judging by my single encounter. This seems due to their huge, padded feet that deaden the sound of breaking material underfoot. My aim was to scare this one off the property, which I did, certainly not to harm it. I have had to shoot five injured or dangerous animals but have never been into hunting.
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I once killed an injured pigeon with a shovel.
Do I win £5?
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No wonder it had hurt itself if it was trying to use a shovel.
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One of my friends was walking his dog when it ran off and attacked a pheasant, mauling it badly.
On seeing the mangled and distressed bird he tried to wring its neck to end its misery - unsuccessfully.
He then picked up a branch and tried to despatch it by clubbing it.
After about 20 whacks it stopped moving.
He was quite upset about not being able to euthanise the animal more humanely than battering it to death. Repeatedly.
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>> He was quite upset about not being able to euthanise the animal more humanely than battering it to death.
Wild animals are strong and don't want to die. It's surprisingly difficult to wring a pheasant's neck with your bare hands. Takes a lot of muscle.
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At a previous house we lived in there was a sort of ornate cast iron grid immediately outside the back door covering a storm drain / sump thing. I suppose the idea was it prevented water coming in under the door from the ground which rose away from the house. Anyway it was about the size of a doormat. We used that door for everything and one morning the postman knocked to deliver a parcel.
I went to answer the door still barefoot and stepped out onto the grid thing. While I was signing for the parcel I could feel a sort of squidgy wetness under my left foot.
On checking, I had stood on and more or less sieved a frog through the grid.
I ( of course ) hopped back into the house ( not easy in bare feet carrying a heavy parcel ) and down the hallway to wash my foot. Now, you know what had happened, but trying to explain all this to a not quite awake wife, while hopping on one foot, holding on to a large parcel while trying to stop the dog chewing at the frog remains on the airborne foot is a hell of a thing to have to deal with before your first mug of coffee.
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The cat, a portly 12 year old spayed female, caught a young rabbit yesterday. It was peering at the rabbit in a corner of fence when I disturbed them by opening a gate.
The rabbit fled very fast, obviously uninjured, and the cat went after it like a bullet... going faster than the rabbit when they both vanished round the corner. I didn't sneak around for the dénouement. I reckon the rabbit had a nearly even chance of escaping.
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Frogs are nothing. Try a couple of mouse-sized West African cockroaches, crunch and smear, yuck...
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I stood on a frog once, but I was wearing shoes. I was on my early morning paper round, aged about 14. I always left my bike at the gates and walked to the door. This particular house was unusual in my semi-rural Berkshire neighbourhood at the time, in that they took The Sun. Evidently I didn't see the poor frog innocently sitting on the path, as something on page 3, I think it was, was distracting me at the time, can't for the life of me think what it might have been........
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Daughter no.2, as a child, trod, barefoot, on a big black slug. The creature squeezed up between her toes ! She's never forgotten.
Sadly, I was at work at the time so was unable to help. Mum had to do all the cleaning up.
Shame.
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I came home from work to find wife and daughters distraught at the number of frogs hopping around the lawn. There had just been a shower and they knew the mower often found them. I put on some wellies, picked up a bucket and wandered around collecting them when one jumped inside a welly. Ever seen a grown man holding a bucket of frogs while hopping around?
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At a certain moment in the wet season lowland Ceylon became alive with frogs, which at night could be seen in the car headlights hopping across the road in huge numbers.
At journey's end the car's inner wings would be caked with dead frogs. The driver used to hose them out or off.
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Or rather, brownish-green ones with bad mud - Lygonos
