71.

Mr Arnaud on a tractor yelling at his dad, a bent stick supported by a stick, like a fairy tale figure. Eh, eh, oh, oh, ah, ah! He calls the milk cows in; a dog passes along the bovine line and round the back, slinkily, pausing, crouching low with its nose down along the grass. The ditch stinking as it catches the run off from the milk parlour. Piles of muck and straw seep a reddish ooze into the mix of waste milk, disinfectant and urine. A Coypu lies dead in the road, its snout bloody; knocked by a car in the night, probably. They live in these streams and ditches. It`s not the first dead one I`ve seen but I never see road kill badgers. In England we have interrupted their territories but here, there is just space.