Such a treat the other night. Lovely neighbours up the road, J & D, the ones with the big garden and the stream, the enormous cedar and the constant supply of bird food that a certain greedy labrador tries to snaffle in passing, invited me and the companion to watch the nightly visitation of their badgers.
J called them softly.
Four of the usual six arrived. They trundled at speed through the shadowy recesses of the garden, taking a circuitous route to the patio steps, where the peanut butter sandwiches and the loose peanuts were waiting.
They arrived cautiously, but hoovered up their supper, jostling each other, crunching loudly, darting up and down the steps. They didn't seem to mind the opening and shutting of the patio doors, the camera flashes, or J standing within two feet of them. They moved fast, jerkily; many pictures were blurred, and we didn't manage to capture all four together.
After a while we simply stood and watched. The boldest was an old bruiser with a scarred nose.
They looked at us, and we looked at them, but they didn't forget why they were there.
I had never seen live badgers at close quarters before. We returned home, feeling thrilled and strangely privileged.
After we left, the tamest one arrived, the one who will feed from J's hand. We'll meet him another night; we have an open invitation to return at any time after darkness falls.
