We've been doing some bushhogging around the farm and we've seen so many little mice running for their lives. It's like the secret of nimh and we're the bad guys. Sometimes, and I really do hate it when this happens, I'll see one running and it has a broken leg or arm from the bushhog. One time I ran over a nest of them and there were five or six baby pinkies, squeaking, hairless and with eyes that (thank goodness) couldn't yet open to look at me, the harbinger of death and doom, Voldemort incarnate. When we bushhog there are hawks and turkey vultures that circle overhead looking for the kill of the day. And there are also plenty of blacksnakes around, big fat ones, that we welcome. We've heard a pair of owls on the farm too. Usually when we have late friday workdays, the pair will start hooting, going over the latest gossip of the day. "Did you see Stuart's outfit today?? HOOTHOOT!"