Yeah, I know. That's terrible language in the title. But I didn't want to use the correct verb, "are," because it's already used in a book -- a book that is actually worth reading in contrast to this bit of wildlife rambling.

This rambling is happening in response to a wild critter that rambled into view of our Toyota Echo, "Ellie," the other morning, as I was leaving for work in the predawn darkness.

That critter as well as the others I'm writing about here is here, in our yard and woods. And this time that is the correct verb. (But with all of us sharing this space, is it ours -- or theirs too?)

I had gone out in that predawn darkness and put the seed down in several places for the birds and squirrels as usual. I had also hung the bird feeder, because if we leave it out at night some night critters tend to want to knock it down and take the bird food out. We don't mind feeding the critters and leaving them lots of bird seed for their night visits. But that feeder cost us $20, by golly, and that's a lot of bird seed.

After daylight comes, Dolores goes out and hangs the two suet cages, both of which we also bring in at night for the same reason we bring in the bird feeder. We do leave the suets out all night in winter, and we can tell when spring is about to spring, because the raccoons open the cages at night and take the suet. They leave the cage, of course, so we can refill it the following night. Thoughtful little bandits.

Anyhow, after I go out in that predawn darkness, I come in again and make my final preparations to go to work -- put on my shoes instead of wearing the all-weather mocs I slop around in out in the yard, tuck the cellphone in a pocket and hope it doesn't ring all day, grab the car keys that help "Ellie" run so well, and kiss Dolores goodbye.

I did all that the other morning, which takes about ten minutes, and then wandered out and into "Ellie." I turned her on, swung toward the curve in the driveway with the headlights sweeping the big pine tree where a fair amount of bird seed was now waiting for the morning critters, and saw in the glare of the lights the fisher.

He -- had to be a male by his size, which was way too big to meet in that predawn darkness without being inside "Ellie" -- looked for an instant at "Ellie," made a motion with his mouth, and then turned and ran/hopped or whatever that motion is that fishers do when they're heading for the hills.

I'm pretty sure the mouth movement meant, "I'm getting out of here in case your accelerator sticks."

Wrong. I don't have an accelerator, and "Ellie's" has never stuck.

Anyhow, he was gone in another instant -- leaving me my story line for the day to use on the unsuspecting bus passengers. And, as I explained to one, each time I tell it, that monster fisher gets bigger.

He was huge, probably nearly 30 inches long and pretty fat -- must have been enjoying bird seed for some time. The tail was about eight inches in diameter, that is the fur was.

Amazing what you can see in the flash of a headlight -- with you're being able to make up the rest later when you have more time.

When I tiptoe out in that predawn darkness, I'm generally a bit cautious because some of our neighbors have had bruin visit them. We haven't -- I don't think. And, of course, I wouldn't want to step on that raccoon that several times dashed across the porch, which is about eight inches below the shed, just as I stepped out and almost on him or her.

From the young ones we're now seeing at night, must be her.

The deer, of course, are a normal part of our night-visitor club.

The bobcat isn't. He -- also quite large -- showed up after a poor doe was walking down the road one night, when an idiot came flying down the road in his or her beat-up relic of a car, blew the horn without hitting the brakes, and whacked her right in the rear.* We heard and saw it and saw her try to leap ahead only to collapse and wait for the police officer to dispatch her about a dozen feet off the road.

We think she was a new doe to the neighborhood, because the rest are very road cautious. We have watched them stiffen and sometimes run when a car or pickup is way up the road yet.

"Probably ought to just let nature take its course," the officer said as he walked back up the road, meaning that no one was going to come and remove the carcass.

But someone did -- in fact, apparently a lot of someones.

The next day Dolores asked me what that was down there by the doe's body, which we could just see from the house where she lay partly behind a tree down in the woods a bit. I looked and saw a pretty big bobcat. We took photos on our old film camera, which we haven't seen because we haven't yet sent the film away.

We saw the bobcat for several days, hunched over by the carcass and chowing down pretty big time, resting awhile between helpings. We could also hear the ravens enjoying their share.

For about three weeks, no deer came around, either because they missed the doe and didn't want to be near her carcass out of fear or they knew the bobcat was around and didn't want to be near him. Or both.

Now the deer are back, along with the raccoons and the fisher.

A few days ago, I walked down to where the doe had been, and she was completely gone, except for wisps of hair that no one had eaten.

Nature took her course.

We still feel bad for her, but we appreciate what nature does in her course. For years, we've roamed the woods and not found any animal carcasses. The other day on a woods road I found some bear "poopies," but that's all. I find it fascinating that we live, surrounded by wild things, and there is no waste, no clutter, no leftovers, no paper cups tossed out in the woods by those critters.

Try having three people in an area for an hour or camping there overnight.

Nature can't keep up with that mess.

People have a habit of calling these clean, self-disciplined critters "dumb animals."

I've never figured out why.

Fnt.*We're not sure why the dumb critters, the human ones that really are dumb critters, have to drive so fast in a dark, wooded area. Deer have been walking up and down this road since before we bought "our" Final Resting Place here. When we first moved in, I took walks both up and down the road and found myself following deer, horse, and human tracks. I've almost hit a few deer and moose in my years in Maine, but not because I was driving too fast. Those I nearly hit, leaped out from the side of the road in the dark, including the big moose who jumped down a bank and was for a few moments galloping about three feet from the front bumper until he leaped up a bank on the opposite side of the road and kept a truckin' -- or a moosin.' I can tell you, no matter what you've read or been told, that moose can gallop.

Milt Gross can be reached for corrections, harassment, or other purposes at lesstraveledway@midmaine.com.

Milton M. Gross Copyright 2010