Close encounters of an animal kind in Mayo bog lands

COUNTRYFILE

I TOOK the long road home, content to make the most of the fine sunset, which has become such an infrequent occurrence of late that I just couldn't miss it.

And so I found myself walking across the bog in a warm and windless half-light.

I had been aiming for a little boreen that was marked by a line of telegraph poles, about 500 paces distant.

Unfortunately, I had failed to take the terrain into consideration, and soon found myself surrounded on three sides by watery pools of unknown depth, and hedged about by rank vegetation, namely brambles, gorse and blackthorn.

There was nothing for it but to turn back until I was more sure of my ground – and I am glad I chose to do so.

For one thing, I don't suppose I would be the first to come unstuck on unfamiliar bog with the light failing.

And for another, had I pushed ahead I wouldn't have met my hare or the three fallow deer that were on my path as I made my way back to safety.

The hare was the first. He sat upright at my approach, with his front paws tucked into his chest and his ears held high, as if to measure my step.

In broad daylight he would have fled. Now, in the gloaming, he waited to see who I was before taking a few short steps, then stopping once more and repeating his upright pose.

This happened several more times, making me feel a little like Alice must have done when convinced that following the white rabbit was the right thing to do.

And indeed, my hare stopped repeatedly, turning around each time to make sure I was following.

And when he stepped off the track and into the heather I did follow. At this he went further and faster before checking again to see if I was on his tail.

The vegetation was low and dry, and the narrow path that twisted over this bit of ground was clear to see, so there was no fear of getting lost.

But when the hare finally had enough he put on a burst of speed and scampered away, leaving me alone, as if he had brought me to this place for a purpose and now his work was done.

Apart from the snipe overhead there was barely a sound, other than the barely audible rustling of the odd mouse or shrew searching out a living.

I was just getting my bearings when the three deer materialised in front of me, as some kind of apparition.

Like the hare, they showed no sign of fear. In fact, the youngest of them, likely no more than three or four weeks of age, was rather inquisitive. Its mother (I imagine that to be the case) and older sister (last year's fawn, now a speckled yearling), uttered low grumbles and led it away.

Again, though, the three of them kept stopping to look back as if they wanted me to follow.

One thing I do know is that these animals would have age-old paths that would take them safely through the bog without getting more than their toes muddy.

If I followed, I would surely find out which fields they like to graze in, then could find them whenever I wished.

And that is what happened. We went 500 yards before the trio stepped through a fence of barbed wire and into a green field, where a dozen other fallow were already picking at the grass.

Once these got wind of me they fled as if for their lives, in the opposite direction. I could imagine the conversation afterwards: “What did you bring him here for?”

I mean them no harm. What better way to spend a summer evening?