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The wonderful dry weather is, sad to say, accompanied by days that are getting noticeably shorter. After taking a hiatus from riding last week, due to ghastly sweaty heat even without a large horse in the equation, I took Doc out on the trails last night. The drought has left the paths very hard, so it's unkind to try for speed, but the woods are lovely dark and deep regardless of whether you're seeing them at a walk or a run. I should be working with him on cantering, but I selfishly want to take advantage of the park before it gets dark too early.

Doc remains suspicious of the deer, although his reactions to their spooks and gambols are more mild startles of irritation than complete rider-tossing freakouts. At this time of year, the stags are starting to notice the laydeez and have fits of boldness; the fawns, which have not outgrown their spots or adolescent skittishness, bounce around like ADD toddlers and further tweak his nerves. Fortunately for me, Doc is much calmer about dogs. We stopped and chatted with a passing hiker whose collie/Lab mix quivered with suppressed barks, but even when it burst into voice, Doc just flicked an ear.

I had cause to be very glad of his sang-froid, too, as we returned to the barn. The light was dimming and everything under the trees near the barn was leached of color, so when I saw a smallish creature moving I thought it was another one of the eedjit fawns. It was the wrong shape, though, and I peered harder. "Son of a bitch," I said, startled. Staring back at me, not 30 feet away, was a coyote. It stood for a moment and then walked further away, turned to look back, and then vanished into the trees. Doc sighed and gave me to understand that his dinner was waiting, so we clopped back to the barn. I couldn't stop grinning.