In winter, moose and red
deer must gather into yards and stay there. With the first heavy storm
of December, they gather in small bands here and there on the hardwood
ridges, and begin to make paths in the snow,--long, twisted, crooked
paths, running for miles in every direction, crossing and recrossing
in a tangle utterly hopeless to any head save that of a deer or moose.
These paths they keep tramped down and more or less open all winter,
so as to feed on the twigs and bark growing on either side. Were it
not for this curious provision, a single severe winter would leave
hardly a moose or a deer alive in the woods; for their hoofs are sharp
and sink deep, and with six feet of snow on a level they can scarcely
run half a mile outside their paths without becoming hopelessly
stalled or exhausted.
It is this great tangle of paths, by the way, which makes a deer or a
moose yard; and not the stupid hole in the snow which is pictured in
the geographies and most natural history books.
But Megaleep the Wanderer makes no such provision he depends upon
Mother Nature to take care of him.
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