Whittling Away with Dick Brooks - Deer

They’re out there, they’re dangerous and their goal is to annihilate us.  They hide in the bushes, ready to spring out, suicidal, willing to sacrifice life and limb.  Armed with biological weapons powerful enough to make a strong man cringe, they roam our neighborhoods with absolute impunity and the government is doing nothing to protect us from this menace.

I know I sound paranoid but I’m not.  I am becoming more and more of a deeraphobic, this I will admit to.  I don’t know when the cute little woodland creatures of my youth turned upon mankind, but they did.  Walt Disney probably had something to do with it.  I mean you can be cute for only so long before you want to loose the saccharine image and start doing some serious damage.  Having been cute for most of my life, I can understand how this condition can wear on any creature and there are those days when I want to stick on an eye patch, grab a cutlass and start slitting throats, but I have so far managed to resist the urge, mostly because The Queen says it wouldn’t be polite and what would people think?  Unfortunately Bambi has no such restraining factor in his life due to the unfortunately passing at an early age of his mother.  He and his band of brigands ride rough shod through our peaceful neighborhood, leaving nothing that flowers in their wake.  After filling their stomachs with my perennials and gnawing all the needles off my evergreens, they amuse themselves scattering volumes of deer ticks where they think I’m most likely to come in contact with them, this done, they wait for cars.  

I’m tired of loosing sleep.  The screeching of tires, followed by the hollow tinny thump of meat against metal occurs all too frequently.  Last night I spent two hours in my yard waiting for the debris of the evening carnage to be towed away.  I do not understand the herd’s love of this automotive contact sport but the rules seem to involve taking turns trying to get run over since if one of the bunch makes the crossing without becoming road kill, there’s almost always another one in line to take its turn at the dance of death.

I think it’s time for the government to take action against these long legged yard rats.  It must be costing us taxpayers a fortune just to tote the daily body count away.  The President could declare a federal venison festival or something.  The Department of Health could surely do something.  Let just one little case of Hoof and Mouth show up and they swoop in with a HazMat team and wipe out everything bovine for miles around.  A chicken, duck or turkey with a head cold can evoke the cry of “Bird Flu!” and get several generations of his immediate family eliminated.  I’ve had Lyme Disease fourteen times, where are the guys in the white suits and respirators that should be hosing my yard down with disinfectant?  No National Guard helicopters, no air strikes on suspicious wooded areas, no Humvees making our roads safe for families to travel, it’s just not right. 

The blame should lie with EnCon or the Department of Conservation, you know, the guys who sell the hunting licenses.  If they’re making money off the deer herds, I think they should be responsible for their behavior.  If I had a big bunch of animals, I couldn’t just let them run around pestering folks and destroying property, I’d get in a whole lot of trouble.  So as taxpaying citizens, I think it’s our duty to write or email EnCon and tell them to keep their deer out of our gardens and off the highways.  I’m going to write my letter right after I finish burning my Bambi video.

Thought for the week—If everything is under control, you are going too slow.—Mario Andretti

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

Whittle12124@yahoo.com