Ruthanne glassed over the pasture from her living room. Last night’s rain had further matted the grass into hillocks, amber moguls poised to trip the unwary. She scanned her binoculars right and spotted two mallards paddling at the pond’s western edge. The drake upended and dabbled in the muck while the female swam on. Something red flashed within the higgledy-piggledy cattails and, sucking in her breath, Ruthanne dialed the Bushnells’ center focus wheel. In the morning’s overcast light it was hard to tell. Could it be? She wondered. Ruby home at last?
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