It happens every year around Halloween. The days grow shorter and the evenings cooler, the early symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder warn of winter’s approach, and a bat finds its way into our rural home – always in the dead of night.
It happened again this week.
It was around 1 a.m. when I heard the familiar sound pass over the bed.
Whoosh!
I slipped out of the room so I wouldn’t wake my wife. She has a phobia of small flying mammals. She doesn’t think I noticed how she used to leave the living room every time the flying-monkeys appeared on The Wizard of Oz. Me? … I just closed my eyes.
Closing the bedroom door I stood in the hallway, listening.
Whoosh! (Good! No repeat of the bat-in-the-bedroom incident of 2005.)
After turning on every light in the house, I grabbed my bat-dueling weapon of choice, the kitchen broom, and for the next twenty minutes lunged, thrust, parried, and sliced the air, in a fruitless attempt to disable the trespasser.
By now, I had knocked over a lamp and upset the fireplace tools, the dog was barking, and my wife and two teenage sons were up.
As soon as my wife saw me with the broom, she dove to the living room floor and lay, face down, screaming – Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!
Please understand – living in a rural area where the bugs are more abundant, a bit larger, and far less courteous than city-bugs, we appreciate the value of bats as insect control technicians. We once tried opening doors and shooing a bat out, which somehow resulted in us having two bats in the house (The twin-bat-incident of 2006). We’ve even put a bat-house in a nearby tree, to give the bats a place to roost when they’re not out on mosquito patrol.
But even the best neighbor is likely to be threatened (or worse) if he barges in and wakes up the whole household at one o’clock in the morning.
Like many before it, this bat was taking advantage of our home’s bat-friendly floor plan. Open doorways allow an unobstructed loop through the house. Ideal for late-night flight maneuvers - a bat’s squeak-less equivalent to the hamster wheel!
So as my wife lay at one end of the living room, with her hands covering her head, we men went to work to vanquish our opponent.
Working as a team, we had nearly winged the intruder a couple of times before the house grew ominously still. The bat, as they often do, had landed somewhere… to rest a bit… and play with our minds.
The boys initiated a nervous search while I stood watch. This offered the first opportunity for me to have a good look at my sons.
Our oldest, had a baseball glove on one hand and a tennis racquet in the other. His younger brother was wearing a pair of safety goggles, and carrying a hockey stick.
I thought to veto the use of the hockey stick, but the bat had filed a revised flight-plan, accepted clearance for takeoff, and initiated a second sortie.
The boys took off in opposite directions, only to meet abruptly in a two-teen pile-up in the hallway. While they were busy extricating themselves from the knot of lanky limbs and sports equipment, the opportunity to end the battle came my way.
I was in the living room when I heard the whisper of wings approaching from behind me.
Tightly gripping the broom handle with both hands, I swung and nailed the bat with a sharp backhand as it was passing on my left. I watched it sail across the room, fighting to break out of its new trajectory.
What I hadn’t realized was that my wife was now standing behind me across the room.
SPLAT!
She took one hard on the cheekbone…. for the family.
By then, the boys had untangled themselves and emerged from the hallway.
The oldest, bending over the now motionless invader on the floor, declared, “Bat’s dead!”
The younger boy approached my wife, “Are you okay Mom?” he asked, “Uh, you’ve got a little something….” (He gingerly pointed to her left cheek).
You see, my wife hadn’t moved since face-fielding the bat, except to open one eye, which hadn’t yet blinked and was leveled at me.
I was caught in one of those panic-stricken moments that you read about, when someone meets a grizzly in the forest, or a large truck is bearing down on them in a pedestrian crosswalk. My brain said run, but my feet just wouldn’t move. I was locked in place by that one-eyed stare!
Now, my evenings, weekends….pretty much every spare moment, are assigned to be spent in stopping-up any suggestion of a gap, crack, fissure, crevice, slit, cranny or cleft, throughout the house.
I think next year, around Halloween, I’ll plan on staying with friends.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Announcing New Golf Course!
My neighbor and I are about to take advantage of the greatest money-making opportunity since Tupperware parties.
Actually, my neighbor doesn’t know about the plan yet, but it involves part of his property, so I guess I’ll have to include him as a partner, since he’s bound to notice the land-grab sooner of later.
I recently read that the game of golf is a multi-billion dollar industry. Not wanting to be left behind, I’ve decided I’m going to make my fortune by building a golf course.
I have limited acreage to work with (even with the public property I’m planning to incorporate into my design) so this will be a course of the two-hole variety.
The course will start on my place, then dog-leg as it crosses State Route 62 and the creek, before terminating on my neighbor’s side of the highway. The intended fairway is already seeded in Licking County turf (tall grass and weeds), with field-corn planted along each side and at the far end.
I don’t presently have capital to invest in expensive grounds maintenance equipment, so I’ll graze goats to help manage the turf. This should also take care of fertilization. During the day, while the goats are busy manicuring the grounds, I’ll use the goat-shed as a clubhouse and will add amenities, like indoor plumbing, as profits allow.
I've done a lot of research on this project and have learned everything about the game of golf. For instance, most golfers are known as Duffers, or sometimes Hackers; the place you tee-off is called the launch-pad; and anything that can mess-up your score is called a hazard, as in: “Hey look! My tee shot killed a pigeon-hazard!”
I’m going to call my course The Raccoon Creek Highland Memorial Links Country Club Golf Course and Corn Maze.
Here’s how it’ll work:
The first group will arrive, and I’ll engage them in some golf-type banter before directing them to the outbound launch-pad. This banter will involve small talk about weather, green speed, and temperament of certain (horned) members of the grounds crew… the usual stuff. The first hole will be a 120 yard par-five.
Par-five may seem high for the 120 yard distance to the pin, but remember that there will be a small herd of goats to be negotiated (and it can be expected numerous goat related hazards), as well as the dog-leg at the highway, and a ditch on each side of the highway. (Duffers call these: Bunkers)
There’s also the creek (Duffers call this a: Water Hazard). Depending on the season, the water hazard may be a small rivulet, or a frothing cauldron of doom. Life vests will be recommended, with rentals available for a small deposit and nominal fee. Survivors will receive a full refund of the deposit.
So, group-one will be on their way, while the next group is held in more golf-type banter as I collect greens fees and signed insurance waivers. When I see that group-one has disappeared around the dog-leg, I’ll release group number two. And so the morning will pass.
This is where the game gets interesting! You see, the Hole One putting green will immediately be used as the launch-pad for Hole Two, and the return trip to the clubhouse. This assumes, of course, that no one overshot the green and landed their ball in the corn maze, which will lie just beyond. (Duffers call this and the corn on either side of the fairway: The Rough).
Anyone who overshoots the green and ventures out to locate their ball in the corn maze should pocket a couple of cold beverages before going in search of their ball, as this process is expected to take several hours.
Hole Two will be a 120 yard, par-nine. Remember, there's now a crowd of additional hazards playing up on Hole One and, by this time, players on Hole Two won’t give a damn about exercising due-caution, having spent the better part of their day wandering around in a corn maze.
A necessary rule, unique to my course, will be that all alcoholic beverages must be kept in a locked container.
You see, goats are known to be aggressive foragers who (as rural legend has it) love to eat cans, bottles, tires, live chickens and small farm implements.
Goats are also known to be mean drunks! So for the safety of all, coolers must be locked.
I hope you’ll come out and play a round or two at TRCHMLCCGC & CM. Hours of operation will be from sunrise to sunset, seven days a week - except Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and some weekends. You can expect a full range of services including port-a-potties, a goat-proof vending machine, and corn maze rescue missions at the top of every hour, almost guaranteed.
Legal Disclaimer: The Raccoon Creek Highland Memorial Links Country Club Golf Course and Corn Maze will not accept responsibility for any accident, injury, molestation, or death that come as a result of drunken goat incidents related to unlocked coolers, or the unintentional sharing of alcoholic beverages with a goat that has been mistaken for an elder-duffer.
Actually, my neighbor doesn’t know about the plan yet, but it involves part of his property, so I guess I’ll have to include him as a partner, since he’s bound to notice the land-grab sooner of later.
I recently read that the game of golf is a multi-billion dollar industry. Not wanting to be left behind, I’ve decided I’m going to make my fortune by building a golf course.
I have limited acreage to work with (even with the public property I’m planning to incorporate into my design) so this will be a course of the two-hole variety.
The course will start on my place, then dog-leg as it crosses State Route 62 and the creek, before terminating on my neighbor’s side of the highway. The intended fairway is already seeded in Licking County turf (tall grass and weeds), with field-corn planted along each side and at the far end.
I don’t presently have capital to invest in expensive grounds maintenance equipment, so I’ll graze goats to help manage the turf. This should also take care of fertilization. During the day, while the goats are busy manicuring the grounds, I’ll use the goat-shed as a clubhouse and will add amenities, like indoor plumbing, as profits allow.
I've done a lot of research on this project and have learned everything about the game of golf. For instance, most golfers are known as Duffers, or sometimes Hackers; the place you tee-off is called the launch-pad; and anything that can mess-up your score is called a hazard, as in: “Hey look! My tee shot killed a pigeon-hazard!”
I’m going to call my course The Raccoon Creek Highland Memorial Links Country Club Golf Course and Corn Maze.
Here’s how it’ll work:
The first group will arrive, and I’ll engage them in some golf-type banter before directing them to the outbound launch-pad. This banter will involve small talk about weather, green speed, and temperament of certain (horned) members of the grounds crew… the usual stuff. The first hole will be a 120 yard par-five.
Par-five may seem high for the 120 yard distance to the pin, but remember that there will be a small herd of goats to be negotiated (and it can be expected numerous goat related hazards), as well as the dog-leg at the highway, and a ditch on each side of the highway. (Duffers call these: Bunkers)
There’s also the creek (Duffers call this a: Water Hazard). Depending on the season, the water hazard may be a small rivulet, or a frothing cauldron of doom. Life vests will be recommended, with rentals available for a small deposit and nominal fee. Survivors will receive a full refund of the deposit.
So, group-one will be on their way, while the next group is held in more golf-type banter as I collect greens fees and signed insurance waivers. When I see that group-one has disappeared around the dog-leg, I’ll release group number two. And so the morning will pass.
This is where the game gets interesting! You see, the Hole One putting green will immediately be used as the launch-pad for Hole Two, and the return trip to the clubhouse. This assumes, of course, that no one overshot the green and landed their ball in the corn maze, which will lie just beyond. (Duffers call this and the corn on either side of the fairway: The Rough).
Anyone who overshoots the green and ventures out to locate their ball in the corn maze should pocket a couple of cold beverages before going in search of their ball, as this process is expected to take several hours.
Hole Two will be a 120 yard, par-nine. Remember, there's now a crowd of additional hazards playing up on Hole One and, by this time, players on Hole Two won’t give a damn about exercising due-caution, having spent the better part of their day wandering around in a corn maze.
A necessary rule, unique to my course, will be that all alcoholic beverages must be kept in a locked container.
You see, goats are known to be aggressive foragers who (as rural legend has it) love to eat cans, bottles, tires, live chickens and small farm implements.
Goats are also known to be mean drunks! So for the safety of all, coolers must be locked.
I hope you’ll come out and play a round or two at TRCHMLCCGC & CM. Hours of operation will be from sunrise to sunset, seven days a week - except Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and some weekends. You can expect a full range of services including port-a-potties, a goat-proof vending machine, and corn maze rescue missions at the top of every hour, almost guaranteed.
Legal Disclaimer: The Raccoon Creek Highland Memorial Links Country Club Golf Course and Corn Maze will not accept responsibility for any accident, injury, molestation, or death that come as a result of drunken goat incidents related to unlocked coolers, or the unintentional sharing of alcoholic beverages with a goat that has been mistaken for an elder-duffer.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Mickey Mouse for President
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:
Mickey Mouse Makes Late Entry into Presidential Race
11:05:42 PM Friday October 17, 2008
The Skintail Party has announced that popular actor Mickey Mouse has agreed to accept their nomination as a write-in candidate for November’s presidential election.
Born in 1928 to immigrant parents, Mickey Mouse is a native of California and an actor respected around the world for his talented performances in wide-ranging roles.
His father came to the United States on a cargo ship bound from Ireland. Upon arriving he made his way to Southern California where he met Mickey’s mother, a migrant field-mouse from Mexico. Mickey and ten siblings were born 21 days later.
Mickey lost his father this year as a result of a tragic accident involving spring-machinery and peanut butter. His mother presently lives with her pets, a pair of chipmunks that she has affectionately named Chip and Dale. Mickey has never forgotten his roots - the work ethic and undying optimism of his parents has been an ever-present reminder of his duty to the little man (and mouse).
Mickey is married to his childhood sweetheart, Minerva (Minnie) Mouse. The couple has not been blessed with a litter of their own, but take great pleasure in the companionship of their faithful old hound, Pluto.
Mrs. Mouse has stated that as first lady she will focus her energies to work for abolition of the use of frozen mice, rats, and guinea pigs as feeder animals for the reptilian pet community.
Mr. Mouse has selected Jiminy Cricket as his running mate, citing Cricket’s proven social conscience. Mr. Cricket is currently filming on location somewhere in Zimbabwe but is expected to join Mickey on the campaign trail as soon as he can be located.
In an effort to demonstrate the transparency and bipartisanship with which he will conduct his presidency, Mr. Mouse has made the early announcement that as president he will recommend the following appointments:
White House Chief of Staff - Goofy
White House Press Secretary - Pinocchio
Attorney General - Queen of Hearts
Secretary of Energy - Tigger
Chairman of the Federal Reserve - The Mad Hatter
Secretary of Transportation - Eeyore
Joint Chiefs of Staff - Bashful, Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey, Sneezy - and two others he can’t remember.
Mickey Mouse will be outlining his platform at a rally immediately following the Anarchist’s in the Park meeting at high-noon on Sunday in Newark, Ohio. We hope that you will join us on the square, and that we can rely on your vote for Mickey Mouse this November 4th.
RELEASED BY: The Skintail Party - Committee for the election of Mickey Mouse - Donald Duck, Chairman.
- END -
Mickey Mouse Makes Late Entry into Presidential Race
11:05:42 PM Friday October 17, 2008
The Skintail Party has announced that popular actor Mickey Mouse has agreed to accept their nomination as a write-in candidate for November’s presidential election.
Born in 1928 to immigrant parents, Mickey Mouse is a native of California and an actor respected around the world for his talented performances in wide-ranging roles.
His father came to the United States on a cargo ship bound from Ireland. Upon arriving he made his way to Southern California where he met Mickey’s mother, a migrant field-mouse from Mexico. Mickey and ten siblings were born 21 days later.
Mickey lost his father this year as a result of a tragic accident involving spring-machinery and peanut butter. His mother presently lives with her pets, a pair of chipmunks that she has affectionately named Chip and Dale. Mickey has never forgotten his roots - the work ethic and undying optimism of his parents has been an ever-present reminder of his duty to the little man (and mouse).
Mickey is married to his childhood sweetheart, Minerva (Minnie) Mouse. The couple has not been blessed with a litter of their own, but take great pleasure in the companionship of their faithful old hound, Pluto.
Mrs. Mouse has stated that as first lady she will focus her energies to work for abolition of the use of frozen mice, rats, and guinea pigs as feeder animals for the reptilian pet community.
Mr. Mouse has selected Jiminy Cricket as his running mate, citing Cricket’s proven social conscience. Mr. Cricket is currently filming on location somewhere in Zimbabwe but is expected to join Mickey on the campaign trail as soon as he can be located.
In an effort to demonstrate the transparency and bipartisanship with which he will conduct his presidency, Mr. Mouse has made the early announcement that as president he will recommend the following appointments:
White House Chief of Staff - Goofy
White House Press Secretary - Pinocchio
Attorney General - Queen of Hearts
Secretary of Energy - Tigger
Chairman of the Federal Reserve - The Mad Hatter
Secretary of Transportation - Eeyore
Joint Chiefs of Staff - Bashful, Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey, Sneezy - and two others he can’t remember.
Mickey Mouse will be outlining his platform at a rally immediately following the Anarchist’s in the Park meeting at high-noon on Sunday in Newark, Ohio. We hope that you will join us on the square, and that we can rely on your vote for Mickey Mouse this November 4th.
RELEASED BY: The Skintail Party - Committee for the election of Mickey Mouse - Donald Duck, Chairman.
- END -
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Sheep Dip
Answer to Mystery Leads to Opening Round in Legal Battle
Carl Vine - October 16, 2008
MONROE TOWNSHIP: In a follow-up to a story that we first brought you in March; we have new information regarding the sheep that went missing from Stonyfield Farm near Johnstown.
The Louisiana Bayou Times reports:
A small flock of sheep were recovered from the waters of the Lower Mississippi River yesterday, by a commercial fisherman, near the town of Point รก la Hache, in Plaquemines Parish.
Strom S. Spindleshank reported that he had been trolling the main channel for the better part of the morning and was about to pull his nets, when he saw something bobbing in the current upstream.
Drawing nearer, he became alarmed by an eerie sound that evoked memories of the plaintiff cries of the river creatures described in stories his Grandpa Spindleshank had told him as a small child.
Gathering his courage and cautiously maneuvering his vessel nearer, Spindleshank could see that the apparition was a group of sheep that were floating in raft-like formation. Mr. Spindleshank skillfully employed his nets to round up the flock and hoist them onto his boat in a single haul.
The herd, numbering 13 ewes and one ram, has since been removed to Spindleshank’s brother’s catfish farm in rural Louisiana, where a veterinarian was able to locate a computer-chip implant on the ram, allowing him to trace the herd back to Monroe Township in Licking County, Ohio.
There, a farmer by the name of Jake Beamer claims to have lost the sheep in the spring flooding that occurred across Ohio this past March.
“I figured they were lost for good,” said Beamer, “I knew it was the creek that took ‘em. I figured they had been flushed through to the Licking River, and might eventually hit the Muskingum or maybe even the Ohio!
“For two days I sat upstream of the Number 2 Lock and Dam to see if maybe they’d float by and I could snag a couple of ‘em. The only livestock I saw pass were a few hogs and one dairy cow. I would’ve tried to catch them, but the cow was too far out in the river, and hogs are hard to get ahold of to begin with - let alone scared, wet hogs with only the business end above water.
“I never figured the whole flock would make it as far as the Mississippi! I’m just glad that Mr. Spindleshank was able to retrieve them before they washed into the Gulf of Mexico!”
A legal battle between the parties is now underway to determine ownership of the errant livestock. Mr. Beamer says that the sheep were his to begin with and they’re still his, though he admits that he owes Spindleshank a finder and recovery fee for his troubles.
A lawyer for Spindleshank is requesting that the courts uphold an 1863 Louisiana law that states; “Any livestock or other chattels, found in or upon the river, shall become the property of the finder - an’ ain’t nothin’ you can do ‘bout it”
According to the lawyer for Spindleshank, a precedent set in the similar case of Lark vs. Tarlton won’t apply in this instance, because that case involved a group of guinea pigs, which can’t properly be considered livestock or chattels… though they make a fine gumbo!
The lawyer contends that the law is clear on this matter, saying, “They’s Cajun sheep now!” and was overheard to say, “Now let’s we all head out to Bubba Spindleshank’s place. I hear he’s havin’ a barbeque!”
We will continue to follow this story and bring you updates as they become available.
Carl Vine - October 16, 2008
MONROE TOWNSHIP: In a follow-up to a story that we first brought you in March; we have new information regarding the sheep that went missing from Stonyfield Farm near Johnstown.
The Louisiana Bayou Times reports:
A small flock of sheep were recovered from the waters of the Lower Mississippi River yesterday, by a commercial fisherman, near the town of Point รก la Hache, in Plaquemines Parish.
Strom S. Spindleshank reported that he had been trolling the main channel for the better part of the morning and was about to pull his nets, when he saw something bobbing in the current upstream.
Drawing nearer, he became alarmed by an eerie sound that evoked memories of the plaintiff cries of the river creatures described in stories his Grandpa Spindleshank had told him as a small child.
Gathering his courage and cautiously maneuvering his vessel nearer, Spindleshank could see that the apparition was a group of sheep that were floating in raft-like formation. Mr. Spindleshank skillfully employed his nets to round up the flock and hoist them onto his boat in a single haul.
The herd, numbering 13 ewes and one ram, has since been removed to Spindleshank’s brother’s catfish farm in rural Louisiana, where a veterinarian was able to locate a computer-chip implant on the ram, allowing him to trace the herd back to Monroe Township in Licking County, Ohio.
There, a farmer by the name of Jake Beamer claims to have lost the sheep in the spring flooding that occurred across Ohio this past March.
“I figured they were lost for good,” said Beamer, “I knew it was the creek that took ‘em. I figured they had been flushed through to the Licking River, and might eventually hit the Muskingum or maybe even the Ohio!
“For two days I sat upstream of the Number 2 Lock and Dam to see if maybe they’d float by and I could snag a couple of ‘em. The only livestock I saw pass were a few hogs and one dairy cow. I would’ve tried to catch them, but the cow was too far out in the river, and hogs are hard to get ahold of to begin with - let alone scared, wet hogs with only the business end above water.
“I never figured the whole flock would make it as far as the Mississippi! I’m just glad that Mr. Spindleshank was able to retrieve them before they washed into the Gulf of Mexico!”
A legal battle between the parties is now underway to determine ownership of the errant livestock. Mr. Beamer says that the sheep were his to begin with and they’re still his, though he admits that he owes Spindleshank a finder and recovery fee for his troubles.
A lawyer for Spindleshank is requesting that the courts uphold an 1863 Louisiana law that states; “Any livestock or other chattels, found in or upon the river, shall become the property of the finder - an’ ain’t nothin’ you can do ‘bout it”
According to the lawyer for Spindleshank, a precedent set in the similar case of Lark vs. Tarlton won’t apply in this instance, because that case involved a group of guinea pigs, which can’t properly be considered livestock or chattels… though they make a fine gumbo!
The lawyer contends that the law is clear on this matter, saying, “They’s Cajun sheep now!” and was overheard to say, “Now let’s we all head out to Bubba Spindleshank’s place. I hear he’s havin’ a barbeque!”
We will continue to follow this story and bring you updates as they become available.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Deer-talk
You might think that white tailed deer are stupid creatures but I’m here to tell you that this is not the case. I was out walking in the woods the other day when I met a talking deer.
My initial surprise was not as great as you might expect - it was only three years ago that I ran into a talking bear in the same wooded area behind my house.
For some time, I had been telling my unbelieving family that there was a bear living in our woods. I had found a few claw-marked trees, and I could smell him, when the wind was right. I’m pretty sure I heard him moving about in the woods a couple times and, occasionally, I would find evidence of something else that bears do in the woods.
I didn’t bother to tell my family about my face-to-face encounter with the bear, let alone that he was a talking bear. Their earlier laughter, taunts and jeers told me that they probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.
But this is another matter. I was within eye-shot of the house and one of my sons saw me talking to the deer. Well, he didn’t actually see the deer, but he saw me talking, there in the woods, so I know everyone will be interested in hearing about the conversation.
They’ve asked me to wait and tell my story when we get together with a Dr. Bissell next week. I don’t know why we’re going to see him, but my wife told me that my cousin Craig, the psychiatrist, suggested that we schedule a visit with Dr. Throckmorton as soon as possible.
Nobody said that I can’t tell you, though, and I’m dieing to tell somebody, so here goes.
I had just walked through the wooded ravine behind my house and was about to round a big patch of briars, when I met the deer walking in the opposite direction.
Deer: How’s it going?
Me: Whoa…. you can talk!
Deer: Of course I can talk, all deer can talk - where have you been?
Me: Sorry, I guess I should have known. I met a talking bear a few years back!
Deer: Bears are idiots.
Me: Well, he seemed smart enough to me. He was very courteous too. His name was Clancy…. or Chauncey…. or something like that.
Deer: You meet a talking bear and you can’t even remember his name?
Me: I was a little shocked… and scared too.
Deer: His name is Chauncey; I know him…. he’s an idiot.
Me: Whatever.
Deer: Yeah, whatever (under his breath, “idiot”); I have to go.
My initial surprise was not as great as you might expect - it was only three years ago that I ran into a talking bear in the same wooded area behind my house.
For some time, I had been telling my unbelieving family that there was a bear living in our woods. I had found a few claw-marked trees, and I could smell him, when the wind was right. I’m pretty sure I heard him moving about in the woods a couple times and, occasionally, I would find evidence of something else that bears do in the woods.
I didn’t bother to tell my family about my face-to-face encounter with the bear, let alone that he was a talking bear. Their earlier laughter, taunts and jeers told me that they probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.
But this is another matter. I was within eye-shot of the house and one of my sons saw me talking to the deer. Well, he didn’t actually see the deer, but he saw me talking, there in the woods, so I know everyone will be interested in hearing about the conversation.
They’ve asked me to wait and tell my story when we get together with a Dr. Bissell next week. I don’t know why we’re going to see him, but my wife told me that my cousin Craig, the psychiatrist, suggested that we schedule a visit with Dr. Throckmorton as soon as possible.
Nobody said that I can’t tell you, though, and I’m dieing to tell somebody, so here goes.
I had just walked through the wooded ravine behind my house and was about to round a big patch of briars, when I met the deer walking in the opposite direction.
Deer: How’s it going?
Me: Whoa…. you can talk!
Deer: Of course I can talk, all deer can talk - where have you been?
Me: Sorry, I guess I should have known. I met a talking bear a few years back!
Deer: Bears are idiots.
Me: Well, he seemed smart enough to me. He was very courteous too. His name was Clancy…. or Chauncey…. or something like that.
Deer: You meet a talking bear and you can’t even remember his name?
Me: I was a little shocked… and scared too.
Deer: His name is Chauncey; I know him…. he’s an idiot.
Me: Whatever.
Deer: Yeah, whatever (under his breath, “idiot”); I have to go.
Me: Hey! Wait a minute! I’ve got a question I need to ask you.
Deer: Shoot! Heh, heh, that’s deer humor…. get it?
Me: Ah….yeah, I got it. Listen, are you the one who’s been eating all of my landscape plants and vegetables?
Deer: Yeah, it’s me…. So what?
Deer: Shoot! Heh, heh, that’s deer humor…. get it?
Me: Ah….yeah, I got it. Listen, are you the one who’s been eating all of my landscape plants and vegetables?
Deer: Yeah, it’s me…. So what?
Me: Well leave them alone! I put a lot of time and expense into my gardening and you keep destroying it all. It’s very disheartening.
Deer: Hey man, you leave the stuff lying around, what do you expect?
Me: Couldn’t you just eat the plants in the woods?
Deer: How’s about you eat the plants in the woods and I’ll stick with your vegetable garden. I mean, look at this stuff man! Do you know what stripping briar leaves off the plants does to my lips? Not cool when it comes time to meet the ladies!
Me: I don’t know anything about that; I just wish you would stay out of my yard. Hey, while I’m thinking about it, how about you talk to your pals about staying off the roads at night, too.
Deer: It’s instinct dude, we can’t help ourselves. You’ve heard of reindeer games right?
Me: Sure!
Deer: Well that’s what we’re up to when you see us on the roads. We’ve got a LOT of free time on our hands. Playing chicken with a few tons of rolling steel breaks up the monotony of a long day. We do it with trains, too, you know.
Me: Deer play reindeer games?
Deer: Let me tell you something, reindeer are idiots! Some advertising executive was writing a poem for department store Santa’s to hand out at Christmas, and he didn’t like the syntax when he used “deer” games. One syllable later and credit for the game that we invented is stolen from us. We had been playing deer games for millennia before reindeer could even talk. Don’t even get me started on all that crap about flying!
Me: Sorry.
Deer: You know we’re responsible for most of those crop circles, too, don’t you?
Me: I didn’t know that.
Deer: Oh yea! We get bored as hell, lying around all day, waiting for you people to go inside so we can get something to eat. The whole crop circle thing started as a way to make some room to warm up for deer games. When we saw how crazy it made all you humans, we kept it up, purely for the entertainment value.
Me: Why?
Deer: Dude! We’re bored! Aren’t you listening?
Me: Sorry.
Deer: Listen man, I’ve really gotta go. I’ll see what I can do about the games and the garden. Until then could you spray some more of that Deer-Off on the tomatoes? Even deer like a little seasoning now and then. Later!
Me: See-ya…. Hey, wait a second! I didn’t get your name!
He just chuckled, and muttered something under his breath as he continued to walk away. I can hardly wait to tell my family and Dr. Bissell about this when we get together next week. I wonder if the doctor will know who’s responsible for the rest of the crop circles?
Deer: Hey man, you leave the stuff lying around, what do you expect?
Me: Couldn’t you just eat the plants in the woods?
Deer: How’s about you eat the plants in the woods and I’ll stick with your vegetable garden. I mean, look at this stuff man! Do you know what stripping briar leaves off the plants does to my lips? Not cool when it comes time to meet the ladies!
Me: I don’t know anything about that; I just wish you would stay out of my yard. Hey, while I’m thinking about it, how about you talk to your pals about staying off the roads at night, too.
Deer: It’s instinct dude, we can’t help ourselves. You’ve heard of reindeer games right?
Me: Sure!
Deer: Well that’s what we’re up to when you see us on the roads. We’ve got a LOT of free time on our hands. Playing chicken with a few tons of rolling steel breaks up the monotony of a long day. We do it with trains, too, you know.
Me: Deer play reindeer games?
Deer: Let me tell you something, reindeer are idiots! Some advertising executive was writing a poem for department store Santa’s to hand out at Christmas, and he didn’t like the syntax when he used “deer” games. One syllable later and credit for the game that we invented is stolen from us. We had been playing deer games for millennia before reindeer could even talk. Don’t even get me started on all that crap about flying!
Me: Sorry.
Deer: You know we’re responsible for most of those crop circles, too, don’t you?
Me: I didn’t know that.
Deer: Oh yea! We get bored as hell, lying around all day, waiting for you people to go inside so we can get something to eat. The whole crop circle thing started as a way to make some room to warm up for deer games. When we saw how crazy it made all you humans, we kept it up, purely for the entertainment value.
Me: Why?
Deer: Dude! We’re bored! Aren’t you listening?
Me: Sorry.
Deer: Listen man, I’ve really gotta go. I’ll see what I can do about the games and the garden. Until then could you spray some more of that Deer-Off on the tomatoes? Even deer like a little seasoning now and then. Later!
Me: See-ya…. Hey, wait a second! I didn’t get your name!
He just chuckled, and muttered something under his breath as he continued to walk away. I can hardly wait to tell my family and Dr. Bissell about this when we get together next week. I wonder if the doctor will know who’s responsible for the rest of the crop circles?
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