I caught this display of rutting stags at Harewood shortly after watching an impressive stampede of the whole herd. These guys were clearly the end guard, putting on a show for the tourists. I could have got a bit nearer, but they kept eyeing me up, and I was concerned that I might get rutted myself.
I find it hard to relate to this sort of animal behaviour. I guess I’m not pumped full of testosterone—more like Toblerone. I’m not interested in cars, nor football, and I haven’t got a loud manly laugh. I’ve never fought over a woman. Women are naturally drawn to my boyish sweetness and mischievous charm, honest.