Nighttime meanderings
The meat…um, meek shall inherit the earth and between Tanya, Dale and myself it seems that the insidious plot of the meat…er, meek to wipe out the human population is medium well underway. The trend is rather apparent…the signs are there; with all the intelligence gathering agencies currently in employed by the gooberment, how are we completely blind to the revenge of the rodents, the bombardment by Bambi and the conspiracy of the cows?
My answer; contrary to what Disney would have us believe, animals can’t talk. Clever that way aren’t they.
To illustrate my point, a couple weekends ago, the heat of the day gave way to an evening temperate enough to open the windows and catch the night breeze.
The crickets chirped and the frogs croaked and a cool draft carried the distinct smell of bay through the windows, it wasn’t long before I was gone and hoping a rendezvous with a supermodel wasn’t out of the question (they have restraining orders in my dreams). That was until around 2:30 in the morning when voices woke me from my slumber.
Tense and ready to strike at any threat, I listen for the nocturnal conversation that awoke me when I hear the rustling of weeds outside my bedroom window. Putting on my glasses and parting the curtains, I search for movement, but its overcast and way too dark to see. I can still hear them moving through the weeds.
Now perhaps I’m wrong, but my thoughts are anyone wandering around my house at 2:30 in the morning, talking to their companion…partner in crime, is probably up to no good, and with that knowledge I throw on a pair of jeans and crawl out of bed to investigate.
Got my can of whoop-ass, 6-D cell mag light and some other things; out the front door I go as to not let them know I’m coming, I circle around back, careful not to step on anything that would give away my position.
They’re still there, I hear them moving through the weeds, pausing occasionally then moving again. “They’re lookin for a way into my house,” I thought to myself, “well, they picked the wrong damn house”.
Ready for a confrontation, I click on the flashlight, aim it in the direction I heard the movement and shout, “Don’t even think about moving.” Yes…I’m that verbose even when not typing.
Deer…five by my count, and no sooner had I shouted my orders when they took off like a politician to a photo op.
I watch the deer, tails raised, beat a retreat when something slams into my legs from behind. Down I go, head smashing into the wall as something pummels me from the rear. Fighting, I roll over to fend off my attacker, but as soon as the onslaught began, it’s over and it's gone.
I failed to realize I had my back turned to a sixth deer munching the weeds under my bedroom window…and I had completely blocked her escape route. With no way to go around me, she went through me. A 40 pound deer completely and soundly kicked my ass.
Dirty, beat up and bruised I head back into the house. I dust myself off and get ready to climb back into bed when I hear the voice again; the voice that woke me up to begin with…kind of muffled…I’ve heard that voice before. I head to my daughter’s room and sure enough, my wife had put my daughter’s favorite talking doll in her crib. “I love you,” it said again as my daughter rolled over on top of it.
The plot is afoot or ahand…whatever. It’s a conspiracy.
My answer; contrary to what Disney would have us believe, animals can’t talk. Clever that way aren’t they.
To illustrate my point, a couple weekends ago, the heat of the day gave way to an evening temperate enough to open the windows and catch the night breeze.
The crickets chirped and the frogs croaked and a cool draft carried the distinct smell of bay through the windows, it wasn’t long before I was gone and hoping a rendezvous with a supermodel wasn’t out of the question (they have restraining orders in my dreams). That was until around 2:30 in the morning when voices woke me from my slumber.
Tense and ready to strike at any threat, I listen for the nocturnal conversation that awoke me when I hear the rustling of weeds outside my bedroom window. Putting on my glasses and parting the curtains, I search for movement, but its overcast and way too dark to see. I can still hear them moving through the weeds.
Now perhaps I’m wrong, but my thoughts are anyone wandering around my house at 2:30 in the morning, talking to their companion…partner in crime, is probably up to no good, and with that knowledge I throw on a pair of jeans and crawl out of bed to investigate.
Got my can of whoop-ass, 6-D cell mag light and some other things; out the front door I go as to not let them know I’m coming, I circle around back, careful not to step on anything that would give away my position.
They’re still there, I hear them moving through the weeds, pausing occasionally then moving again. “They’re lookin for a way into my house,” I thought to myself, “well, they picked the wrong damn house”.
Ready for a confrontation, I click on the flashlight, aim it in the direction I heard the movement and shout, “Don’t even think about moving.” Yes…I’m that verbose even when not typing.
Deer…five by my count, and no sooner had I shouted my orders when they took off like a politician to a photo op.
I watch the deer, tails raised, beat a retreat when something slams into my legs from behind. Down I go, head smashing into the wall as something pummels me from the rear. Fighting, I roll over to fend off my attacker, but as soon as the onslaught began, it’s over and it's gone.
I failed to realize I had my back turned to a sixth deer munching the weeds under my bedroom window…and I had completely blocked her escape route. With no way to go around me, she went through me. A 40 pound deer completely and soundly kicked my ass.
Dirty, beat up and bruised I head back into the house. I dust myself off and get ready to climb back into bed when I hear the voice again; the voice that woke me up to begin with…kind of muffled…I’ve heard that voice before. I head to my daughter’s room and sure enough, my wife had put my daughter’s favorite talking doll in her crib. “I love you,” it said again as my daughter rolled over on top of it.
The plot is afoot or ahand…whatever. It’s a conspiracy.
posted by zombie at
8:22 PM
3 Comments:
That's a beautiful tale and well told Zombie. The only part that scared me was the 'some other things' you grabbed with your flashlight. :-)
Haha, Bambi's mom kicked your butt *G* Awesome post! I hope you weren't really hurt?
Not that scary Dale unless you consider a Louisville Slugger, can of mace and a rocket propelled grenade launcher scary.
I'm just kidding, I don't have any mace.
Unfortunately it's more embarrassing than that Mel, it was Bambi that kicked my butt. Only my pride Mel...only my pride.
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