Hormonally supercharged roebucks

5am this morning saw me sat up a high seat thinking "nothing has shown up so far so why not try the Buttolo?". Possibly a trifle impatient on my part after only about 45 minutes but hey ho. I usually regard pulling out the Buttolo as a final act of desperation with questionable results.

Sat where I was at a cross ride I had visibility along a ride ahead and along rides either side with a ride behind me. I have never seen or shot anything on the ride behind so was not bothered about not having visibility over it. The rides I had visibility over have usually been the best producing rides in this particular woods. I had also heard roe barking in the block ahead of me to the left.

Out came the Buttolo and so starred several minutes of rather peculiar noises. Needless to say, there was a visible and notable absence of ardent amorous male deer suitors piling in for a dose of 100 grain lead and copper 'lovin'. Having started, I thought I might as well carry on for a bit and see if the racket it pulled in any punters. Several more minutes of intermittent honking and pheeping followed.

Eventually something seemed to be responding to the "call to genetic duty" noises presumably emitting from the Buttolo. It took a second for me to trace the source of the incoming charge, which was coming in like a rocket and crashing invisibly through the under growth. Needless to say (and completely predictably) it was incoming directly behind me, being the ride I had decided to ignore. As I turned to see what was incoming two young roe bucks crashed onto the ride and skidded to a stop behind a couple of trees at 20 yards exposing no vitals or clear shot, at which point they must have caught my scent or seen my movement. After what was probably only a couple of seconds of stand off they managed to turn within the cover they had and bolted off whence they came, as noisily and invisibly as they had arrived.

I can't say I was too upset about not getting one or both of them. To be fair, having in my youth been occassionally led close to destruction by the siren call of the female of the species, I felt for the poor lads. I also can't even begin to imagine their disappointment (and probably horror) when they realised that the siren calls they were honing in on like the hormonally supercharged teenagers they were were being emitted by a portly middle aged bloke sat up a tree who, they must have correctly guessed, had evil intent towards them. I have to admit to laughing aloud when the poor chumps realised they had been taken for a ride and scarpered.

Half an hour after the roebucks scarpered (and I had given up on the Buttolo), a decent sized young muntjac buck peacfully grazed his way out on to one of the rides and into my larder.

If there is a moral to the story, I guess it is to leave it longer before resorting to desperate measures. That said, the only thing more desperate than my measures was the ardour with which the lads came crashing in. Had I waited, one of them may have pootered out on to the visible rides of its own accord at some point and ended up shot. Instead, I metaphorically doffed my cap to the pair of them and hoped they had learnt a valuable life lesson about approaching the female of the species with caution. But I doubt they did. It's not as if I ever did (or have)!