Recently I had a thrush knock himself senseless against the spokes of my forewheel, and cycling friends have told me of similar experiences they have had, in some instances the heedless birds getting killed.

Chaffinches are like the children in village streets--they will not get out of your way; by and by in rural places the merciful man will have to ring his bell almost incessantly to avoid running over them.

As I do not travel at a furious speed I manage to avoid most things, even the wandering loveless oil-beetle and the small rose-beetle and that slow-moving insect tortoise the tumbledung.
Two or three seasons ago I was so unfortunate as to run over a large and beautifully bright grass snake near Aldermaston, once a snake sanctuary.
He writhed and wriggled on the road as if I had broken his back, but on picking him up I was pleased to find that my wind-inflated rubber tyre had not, like the brazen chariot wheel, crushed his delicate vertebra; he quickly recovered, and when released glided swiftly and easily away into cover.

Twice only have I deliberately tried to run down, to tread on coat-tails so to speak, of any wild creature.

One was a weasel, the other a stoat, running along at a hedge-side before me.