A lovely walk, lakes, hills, skylarks, views, buzzards...all is forgotten.
On the return drive, the horrors return. A familar stretch of lane, skid marks. I'd better check to see if it woke up alright. Damn, still there. Gentle shaking reveals an unhopeful 'stiffness'. Feelings of guilt are quickly alleviated when as I drive off, yet another pheasant sprints suicidally towards the car. An emergency stop, and angry remanstration with the chap results with its speedy exit. This week as last, the machette will do its stuff, the feathers will be plucked and I will realise that dinner does not always come in a vacuum packed, non suffering convenience tray.