I'm cursing the dark that's suddenly enveloping my ranch this evening at approximately 5:00 PM with the time change. I'm stomping off into the pinon trees, behind the barn, looking for the water hose I know is coiled there somewhere, when I realize that the trees are no longer green, but just black shapes in an even blacker gloom, it's inkiness broken only by the stars that are popping out of the matte fabric one by one over the mesa. And I think of how we never really found any pawprints of the bobcat that's been systematically raiding us each night for a week.

I think of my favorite goose Darwin getting dragged off in the grip of steely jaws over the fence on a night just like this.

Then five of my Rhode Island Reds hens.

And my barn cat Boone.

I've got it all buttoned down now, I tell myself, casting a glance towards the hen house where my birds are locked up for the night. But we never did find those pawprints, although we searched each afternoon.

And suddenly I feel the cool fingertips of the prematurely black evening sneaking their way across my shoulders, tickling their way up the back of my neck, and they start the wheels turning. Whatever it is that's been eating my pets all week-- because we never did find those pawprints and maybe it's not a fifty pound bobcat, but a mountain lion, or a big black bear--could be watching me from the unfathomable shadows that are closing in around me now. And I'm starting to regret leaving the tenacious heeler dogs up at the house and not having a gun with me. And knowing that Dennis won't be home for another hour gives whatever that big thing is that's lurking in the shadows ample time to cart me off too.

Oh, quit being so silly, I tell myself. And high tail it back to the house through the pitch black.

Pronto.