The mommy bushbuck is visiting for a snack. She rests in the shade of the milkwood tree, her head peering over the teak table, while her baby watches from close by.
I should be shooing them away – they’ll be eating my agapanthus next – but I don’t have the heart to do it. Instead, I hide behind the kitchen window and watch. It’s all quite idyllic.
Suddenly, there is a movement. Here comes Isis along the path we’ve just built; she’s taking one slow step after the other. Good grief! She is actually stalking the buck. Isis may be a very small cat, but she’s also a very hungry lion (well, at least in her head).
Now Isis stands at the leg of the table puffed up to her full height – all 20cm or so – and the mother buck stares at her (she has to duck her head under the table to do this). I don’t hang around long enough to see who wins this staring battle, but I do notice the mother and her baby peeling off into the forest and then popping out in front of the house.
This encounter has delayed me a little. I get into my car for an infrequent trip “to town”. Barely 2km from home, I notice a seething mass of … something … stretching across the road in the stripy shadows of the exotic eucalyptus trees that line the road and make you dizzy, like a strobe light, as you drive past them.
The mass is moving towards me and there’s a man with a flag running ahead. As I pull my car to a stop, I think: who is toyi-toying (dancing in protest), and why? And where on earth do all these people come from?
Ahem. And then they come into view: not dancing and singing people, but cows, a large herd of them. Actually, I should call them cattle because I see some large horns, too. They stream past my car in quite a well-behaved fashion.
I feel a little sheepish. But this little foray onto the planet of the animals has made me smile.