Tim Spielman: In the dark, windy woods, the death of a buck is a tough experience to witness

On Oct. 9, my black Lab was the first to make the discovery. Going about her morning-relief rituals, she began an incessant barking – not the usual hey-neighborhood, I’m-up, sporadic barks.
At the far edge of my lawn, I could see something white. There’d been frost overnight – and my eyesight was still a bit bleary – but a singular frosty area didn’t make any sense. So I walked over to see what Liza’s fuss was about.