Okay, it’s official: Our dog is in the pocket of Big Deer. We elected that dog to look after our interests, but he’s obviously on the take. Why else did we have OVER A DOZEN DEER yesterday IN THE SIDE YARD, and no dog in sight?
Charlie called me to the back door to look at the deer at the bottom of the sledding hill–no, two deer–no, three…. One after another, they popped into view. I ran and grabbed my camera. Then #1 daughter drove in and they scattered and–ran? No, children, they strolled. They moseyed. They sashayed. They lollygagged. They slouched off, laughing and shrugging and punching each other in the biceps. Damn hoodlums.
There were well over a dozen of these things, and deer are HUGE. When I see one, I think of Teddy, who was in the rehab with Grandpa. Teddy had an imagination bigger than a deer, and he was always talking about the barn-full of deer the government was paying him to keep, and how a full-grown buck weighed two thousand pounds and could eat the top out of a tree. Of course, Teddy claimed to be married or formerly married to every woman on the staff, and once told me a long story about watching a Greyhound race between a pack of dogs and a bus. But he was right about deer being bigger than a breadbox.
I snapped several pictures, but the deer didn’t show in any of them. It’s like they were invisible without movement. It was freaky.
Oh, and, as soon as the deer had gone over the hill, here came the dog, looking for food and barking at my mother.
The dog is a sell-out.
Oh, and I’m also blogging at Fatal Foodies today, on the subject of rutabagas.
WRITING PROMPT: Bring a character face-to-face with a deer.