Time for another installment of an Impism.
An Impism, if you remember from Scrambled Brains, is something that would only happen to me.
Tonight, it was being held hostage by deer.
It’s been hot as heck around here lately, so I find myself sitting on my back porch, enjoying the cooler night air. Having moved to a small town in the mountains, from the city, being able to look up and see stars is still a novelty to me. The city has too much light pollution to be able to see much.
So, there I am, minding my own business, debating the merits of heading to bed, when there’s a noise about four feet from where I’m sitting.
A deer comes traipsing into my yard. Scared the heck out of me, but hey, deer are pretty common around here, no big deal.
Two far smaller critters followed along. Babies. This year’s babies. Locals, who are far more used to such things than I am, refer to them as ‘spotties’, because of the white spots on their coats.
Cute lil things.
Problem is…Momma Deer tend to be very aggressive in defending their young. They don’t tend to hesitate, but go ahead and stomp the living bejabbers out of whatever, or whomever they’ve identified as a threat. Locals have also warned me that if you see a Momma with a spottie in the yard, stay the heck in the house.
I really, REALLY didn’t want Momma deciding I was in need of a good hoofing. Complicating matters further, my back door wasn’t latched…and Bazinga, the Wonder Dog, was snoring on the floor, just inside the door. If she caught scent of these deer, she could push her way out, and Lord have mercy, we’d be in deep trouble then. I’ve been warned by the Conservation officer that deer will absolutely go after a dog, so when walking Bazinga, make sure that either we carry a stout stick, or bear spray. Seriously, bear spray is advised for DEER around here.
The movies lied. Bambi’s mother was no innocent animal. She was a vicious, aggressive brute, intent on turning people and pets into toe jam. Or hoof jelly, whatever.
So, there I am, praying Bazinga doesn’t make an appearance, and waiting for the deer to leave and head to someone else’s yard. Darned if one of the babies decided there was something worthy of attention about two feet from where I was sitting, doing my best impression of a non-threatening, vaguely human shaped statue. I sat in that danged chair, watching the deer, and keeping a close eye on the back door. Just to add to the fun, my bladder decides that it’s had enough, thanks very much, and I need to pee.
Finally, after about twenty minutes, baby wandered off to join Momma and other baby at the other side of the yard, and I sidled my way into the house, hoping I didn’t fall off the porch, wet my pants, or make any other moves that the deer would decide was worthy of stomping.
And I had to step over the sleeping, snoring form of Bazinga the Wonder Dog to get to safety. I mentioned her concern with deer in Guard Dog, Fail, but this is just something else. I could be a smear between deer feet, and she wouldn’t so much as twitched.
Held hostage by deer, bladder ready to explode, while the 125 lb Mastiff snores. Yup. Sounds about right for my life.
This post is also on Friday Flash Blog Link Up