The two spike bucks dramatically walked onto the stage from opposite sides of the back pasture. Youthful in years, genetically deprived of forked horns, but with obvious false male pride as to their place in nature.
In constrast, the two year old doe demurely meandered beneath the acorn laden oaks of the Tin Star Ranch busily preparing simultaneously for winter and the inevitable conception of her next fawn.
Survival of the fittest dictates that only the strong may create progeny. Accordingly, the battle to come would surely tilt fate in one manner or the other.
Spying one another, the combatants jauntingly pranced about in visual displays of their supposed prowess...to equally intimidate their opponent while wooing the potential mate (who continued to munch protein with complete disinterest).
In spite of their diminuitive headwear, the would-be suitors met face to face for the initiative staring match.
Next came pawing at the ground in the manner of bullring toros psyching to banish the toreador.
Without warning, both charged at full tilt, simultaneouly locking potentially impaling spikes while furiously churning their legs in a symphonic choreographed dance of desire.
....and they repeated their gentically programmed masculine machismo until the object of their "affection" silently retreated into the nearby brush.
Living on the ranch has a lot of perks, but ya gotta shake your head at times regarding the similarities between males of all species?
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1 comment:
So true!
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