The time to bale the hay in the field where I hunted had come. This field was next on her list. The tractor began to move along the rows of fluffed hay, pulling the baler that picked it up and packed the hay into small bales. Farmer’s daughter removed the bales from the baler and loaded and stacked them on the trailing hay wagon. This didn’t bother me, I stuck to my job of hunting.
Farmer’s wife and daughter both knew I was in the field, but since I had already dove beneath the hay, they could not figure out in which row I was hiding. Farmer’s wife temporarily parked the tractor. “I sure would hate to bale that cat!”
“Me, too,” her daughter agreed.
They began their job once again and baled more hay. The workers and machinery circled the hayfield several times. Still I remained cool and hid in my fluffy cover. All at once, another field creature happened my way. Farmer’s daughter spied my reaction. She lit off of the hay wagon running toward me.
She startled me so that I missed my target and ran for dear life. I left the field for my shed and my little ones. The tractor and baler kept moving ahead and cleaned up all the hay on that field. I am glad I did not stay there after all. I will try again there tomorrow, but with all of that hay gone, there is no place to hide. Hunting will be different, I might need to find a new place to work.
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