Sinister is the wrong word maybe flat out scary

Is this what I think it is? I took this photo tonight.  And I swear I have never seen this hole in the glass before! Is this from a gun? A rifle?.

Hmm. It is pheasant shooting season.

TonTon and I had words with hunters coming too close to my house today in  their camouflage gear and their fluorescent  vests. I ran down to the creek and intercepted them. There were two of them, armed with rifles and two dogs.   I say please do not shoot so close to my barn, I have pregnant animals.  You are shooting at My birds.  Startling my sheep.  This is My home. I would be grateful if you would take your guns elsewhere.  This is private property.

I am angry. They scare me. I lick my lips and the moisture freezes. I resist the need to wipe my mouth with my fingers.

They are stolid and playing stupid with sly looks. They look bemused. What did she say? A foreigner!  Did you get that?  Did you know one of Them lived out here?  They look at each other and back at me. My heart is beating so loudly I am surprised my chest is not moving in and out with the rhythm.  The Big One spits tobacco to the side, missing my boot.  I do not move.   He shifts his rifle. I leave my sunglasses on but wish I was not wearing my silly hat with the Pom Poms. I am furious and these Pom Poms sway with the whip of my head.  But I will not take the Pom Pom hat  off either.  I will not shift. I forget to breathe.  I stand, motioning  TonTon:  In.  He looks back. He would rather stand in front of me. GET IN.  I say. He sits.  Still in front of me.  He will only go that far.

The men look at each other and shrug their shoulders.  Their faces are florid and blinky.  They look back at me.  I am suddenly aware that I am out here in the middle of nowhere, alone, except for a small sheepdog in a fury.  These  men have guns.  Loaded.  I wait. My shoulders back, feet in grubby green gumboots solid.  I will not swallow. Ton growls.  Low.  Daisy calls from the barn. I am glad my hands are in my pockets.

Then they nod, grunt, turn  and move on, guns on their shoulders, barrels pointing back at me.  Their dogs range, barrel chested, hungry. TonTon hates them all with an unusual passion.  He quivers at Sit unable to control his bark.   Desperate to race after them and have his say. I say Down and he hurls himself furiously at my feet and glares still, visually spitting, growling up at the men as they leave,  his head down and sideways. The BigDog is so scared he has hidden. The men with Guns terrify him. I watch them walk.

Get In.  I say to TonTon as I turn my back on their barrels.  He is reluctant . Get in Behind! I growl louder.  I am angry.  I bite my thumb at them. I swear quite nastily. Dog leaps to my heel.  He is Looking back as he walks forward. Lets put the sheep in. I say.

This is better. 

c