Oh, Deer

Look what decided to come over the berm to pay our yard a visit during breakfast (and drop some poop in the process!) Why, yes! It's a DEER! Oh, happy, happy; joy, joy! But wait..."This is Suburbia," you say? True, though we are fortunate enough to live in a subdivision that is much older, and has larger yards and lots of forest.

Tom and I constantly rebel against our parents, who curse and complain about squirrels, blue jays, and snakes in their yards. We, on the other hand, love these kinds of critters and enjoy observing them and discussing them during mealtimes. However, our tolerance is not extended to these lovely, malicious bandits. If you could see the damage these majestic beasts can inflict on flower and vegetable gardens in one night--not to mention dropping huge piles of rabbit beans poop on your lawn--you might not love the sight of them so much.

The kids got a huge kick out of it. Ava loved the thing. (Mommy and Daddy didn't explain that this is why we have the electric fence around our precious corn patch.) Liesl wants to name it "Mr. Deer." (I want to name it "Mr. Dead.") Though, since we're not exactly on intimate terms with the deer, we don't know what to call it. Sir? Ma'am? Him? Her? It? (I call it "Get-your-butt-out-of-my-gardens-you-thieving-cloven-hoofed-bastard!")

Ah, spring.