You know you're getting to work early when you catch antelope sleeping in.

We had just finished the fourth strutting ground of the morning, and were wending our way down a hilltop two-track to get to the main road, and from there south to the Interstate and home. And there they were, a small band of pronghorn, still bedded, enjoying the sun that had finally popped out over the clouds. Their backs to the wind.

About a dozen in the group. Does and last year's fawns, soon to become yearlings (pre-teens, I guess you would call them), and one lone buck, off a little by himself on the right. Snoozing in the sun, oblivious to the pickup truck.

The heelers sisters have no comprehension as to why I would stop along a road and not let them out, but instead I tolerate their whines and bumps against the shoulder (not politely, though, I should mention) and try a few shots with the camera. As I'm fumbling with a lens, I hear a snort.

The buck has risen, and let loose a blast through his muzzle. Not really an alarm call, more like a man getting out of bed in the morning, and clearing his throat and nose at the same time. Announcing to all who can hear, "I'm up."

And most the herd takes his snort the same way I did. Rising to their feet, but really with no panic or alarm. Just all mutually deciding it's time to start the day.

Except one little pre-teen.

Who busts out of there at a full run, making a panicked dash to the west. Leaving the rest of the herd standing there flat-footed, with "what the f???" looks on their faces.

And then, being the herd animals they are, everyone follows, at a gentle trot.

Apparently, the herd rule is "whoever runs, must have a good reason, so we'll all follow." And as a survival strategy, it seems to have worked. But I'm not sure I would enjoy living in an anarchistic system where pre-teens can take control and lead.

I pack the camera away.

Time to go.