Walking the Berkshires
He had never been in the wild, never caught the scent of prey on the wind or known the quivering pause before springing to the kill. He was old, and tired, and no longer on display in New York, so he arrived at Millbrook to live out his final geriatric days. I remember him hissing on top of the wooden box where he bedded down at night, and thinking there was still something feral in that old captive body.
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