Antelope on the Other Side

Twigs beneath my feet and hands, just fresh earth, moss, and uncomfortable nuts. Above, I hear obnoxious buzzes, and below, scritching legs and curious antennae. A creak here, a squeak there, from softwoods with bugs crawling in and under the dry white bark. I am close, but further than some from my forest. I trap a scent from the wind. Strange yet familiar, perhaps antelope? Have I ever seen on before? Squirrels and dogs I know, but antelope? Sometimes instincts must override reason, It's antelope, whatever antelope means. They smell of grass, sweat, and their own crap. Why does that sound delicious when I just admitted they reek of New York City sewers? The hunt takes too long. Fly, March, Stalk, STOP! Antelopes in view, at three o'clock. Ready, set, graceful mad-dash, and now it's in my grasp-- Whack! Ow, that hurt. New goose egg for the count as I look through the clear prison wall. So much for fresh antelope. Hello nasty little girl, my name isn't Tigger. Don't take my picture.