I stop my car. Just stop. Right smack in the middle of the driveway. The deer picks up his head, peers at me. He’s not just a deer. I can’t count points on a buck. But this must be 10, maybe 12, could be 14. He knows it. Stares at me, long enough for me to know what he’s thinking, what he’s saying. ‘Go on, get on your way, we’re good if you’re good.’
I drive off.
Some people would want to mount him on the wall. I’ll mount him in my mind.
A few days a go, a turkey came galloping (do turkeys gallop?) through the back yard, across the patio and out of sight.
Nature.
Miles taking his final exam this morning. Math. Some sort of algebra. Christmas vacation starts at 10:30.
The third at Ffos Las lines up. Flag is up. They’re off. Did he call it the “Happy Birthday Catherine Johns…?” The Racing Post says Amelia Johns. Whomever you are, Happy Birthday.
Despite some sloppy jumps late, Blue Las, at 1-9, wins easily.
The racecourse commentator says Amelia. Happy Birthday Amelia.
