I took the dogs to the pond this evening. They ran for scent, rolled where deer had rutted, grazed like cattle on green sprouts down stream from the drinker. The pond is completely dry. Only the weight of the red bull has punched through cracked earth to a little dampness. At the drinker, a mountain lion came with her cub, each leaving a single disappointed print in soft powder.
Someone built a stone cairn.