Thirteen acres of hardwood forest, cloaked in powdery snow. A marvelous place to tromp with curious dogs...
Who made a bed here? And here? What creature wrestled these leaves from under the snow? I imagine warm, furry bodies curled tight, protected from wind in the the snow-pocket beds.
Are these beds evidence of local coyotes?
The indentations remind me of Gypsy's contortions when she rustles up her doggie-bed before lying down at the end of the day. She snuffs and snorts and digs furiously with all four paws to align things just so. She'll go on like this for several minutes until, almost out of breath, she stops, looks up at us with an air of frustration, circles, and plops down with a huge sigh.
|Gus, sniffing the beds.|
Some areas look like there was a herd, or else one or two who, like Gypsy, couldn't get comfy in one spot so tried another. And another. And another. Before finally moving on to another likely site.
Further down the trail I make out a clear track. NOT coyote--definitely DEER.
I love how snow enables me to witness what my dogs are tracking, their noses brushing up white fluff. Gypsy tears off to search beneath blanketed pines, FLD Gus hard on her tail. I follow.
|Wild rabbit scat?|
They discover some scat, most likely rabbit, but it is lighter in color and bigger than the city-rabbit scat prevalent around our old townhouse.
|The Deer-Blind Bar.|
I squeeze inside an old, deserted deer blind. Gypsy and Gus look in like they are sidled up to a northern bar for a shot and a beer after the hunt.
"You buying?" Gypsy seems to say to Gus.
|Gypsy-doodle at the Deer-Blind Bar.|
"I'm not old enough!" Gus complains.
|FLD Gus sidles up.|
Come on dogs, it's time for dinner, I say, heading home. And I AM buying.
|The dogs come home.|