The rutting season is upon us, and I don't just mean my brother in law's stag night last week. Of which, least said...
Hacking in Windsor Great Park, usually a gentle and sedate pursuit, is once again fraught with dangers as rival rutting stags are on the prowl. And the little blighters are lurking, everywhere. I'd swear they suss out your planned route and then go and position themselves in the most inconvenient of places. Turning back from the Deer Park (where, funnily enough, we had trotted and cantered happily, unmolested by deer) on to the sand track to head back home, our progress was halted as we came face to pointy muzzle with several honking, hooting antlered heads (sorry, I don't know the technical term for the terrifying noise a rutting stag makes). And their attendant harems of females, of course, who are too inquisitive and get far too close to one for comfort, the little minxes - arousing the suspicions of said stags, who then get upset.
It is not easy. They were parked all over across the track and spread out wide on either side of it, showing no intention to budge. I was keen to avoid a repeat of last autumn's emergency ditch-jumping escape (when the mare and I found ourselves dangerously close to the receiving end of stag rage and were forced to make a swift exit). The mare, you see, is not supposed to jump or gallop, by vet's orders, on account of her advanced years and frail legs, but she is always too keen to find an excuse to do precisely that. So on that occasion she was delighted with her own cleverness, and in fairness she did get us out of it, bless her. But several days of worry, Bute, rest and more worry ensued after the incident, so in spite of the lateness of the hour and the failing daylight, I decided to take the scenic route back home this time.
Tootling gently along a woodland path, pretending I'd intended to come back this way anyway, admiring the copper leaves and feeling quite smug for having circumvented the stags unharmed, I was shaken out of my contented state by another unmistakeable honk. As the path turned, there is was: another one of the little pests, peering menacingly from between the trees. Venison pie, anyone?
There was enough clearance between us this time, and no other deer around, so I instructed the mare not to make eye contact and we walked straight past it, heads held up high - we are not scared, they will not take our way of life! We even made it back to the yard with just enough daylight to untack and groom before it got properly dark. And with four working legs, this time.
