Final stretch

The Gorse Fox was on the final stretch. Only about a mile to go before getting back to the car. He was in a blissful daydream, revelling in the silence and solitude.

Bakaaarrrrk!(*)

A pheasant, hiding in the undergrowth had waited for the Gorse Fox to get within a couple of feet before screeching and launching himself into the air, and wheeling away into the distance.

The shock and surprise was total and the affect on the Gorse Fox featured a number of responses. His heart rate leapt by about 760 beats per minute; he exclaimed "Bu***r Me!"(**); and now he needs to work out the going rate for carbon offsetting given the contribution of methane he made to the atmosphere.

The woodland opened out again. The path took the Gorse Fox through this chest-high field of Oilseed Rape. The smell was heady, but it seemed almost exciting cutting straight through this field... reminding the Gorse Fox of countless movies where people have escaped through fields of corn or whatever. As his imagination wandered he did check over his shoulder that there were no marauding moonshiners chasing him with guns.
Nope.
Still alone.


(*) Copyright Atyllah the Hen

(**) This was an exclamation, not an invitation nor a request.