There's a Deer Leg In My Garage
Well, actually, it's not in my garage, but my carport. Garages are entirely enclosed and mine mine is built without doors, but then even the rich-people houses around here include the doorless carport instead of the doored garage. But that's not really important. I just needed a shorter word for the title and since I can't lie, I had to clarify in my lede.
Back to the purpose of this post, there really is a deer leg in my carport. That's not really all that strange. I have a dog. I live out in the boonies. It's deer hunting season and the rut. That last bit means that the deer are going bat shit crazy and running out in front of the cars (from the rut, not the hunters so much) or getting shot by hunters who lose them and the deer goes off in the woods and dies. The second part means that there are a lot of deer around here and a lot of hunters. The first part means that, when able, he'll drag all sorts of crap up in my yard. Luckily, he spends most of his time in the fenced in back yard. My parents' Great Pyrenees has drug entire deer carcasses, bottles, cans, someone's shoes, rabbits domesticated and wild, unidentified body parts, and other assorted treasures because she is free to wander as she pleases. She's actually carried some of my chickens back to my parents house without harming them. It was bizarre.
Today, however, I let Bubba out to pounce through the weeds at the edge of the field while I feed the chickens, put the brewing equipment back in the storage shed and bring in tubs of Christmas decorations in from said shed for K to not go through. I forget the keys, so I sprint back to the house to get them. Realizing that I'll probably be breathing a little hard, I decide to pretend I'm excited and tell K that Bubba just took down a deer. She actually halfway believes me, so I keep stepping up the hyperbole until she finally realizes that her first instinct (that I'm full of shit) was correct as usual.
Here's where it gets weird. I lug out a few more loads of glass carboys and kegs and lug in a few more red and green Rubbermaid tubs of Christmas joy, Bubba (my dog) comes running up to me with a deer leg dangling out of his mouth. Or at least what's left of it. From the bottom joint to hoof is in good condition, but from first joint to knee is mostly devoid of flesh and fur and from knee to the knob that once fit into the hip is nothing but bone. Bubba is happy with his find (I'm not sure where he found it. He didn't actually leave the yard) and trots back and forth following me with my loaded wagon. When I reach the shed, he lies down to gnaw on ligament and jerky-like remnants of meat. When I reach the house, he lies down next to the truck and does the same.
Luckily for me, when I call him in for the night, he places the leg behind the car we don't use anymore and trots through the porch into the back yard to eat his dinner. We still have that half-eaten leg in the car port and I'm not looking forward to getting rid of it.
Well, actually, it's not in my garage, but my carport. Garages are entirely enclosed and mine mine is built without doors, but then even the rich-people houses around here include the doorless carport instead of the doored garage. But that's not really important. I just needed a shorter word for the title and since I can't lie, I had to clarify in my lede.
Back to the purpose of this post, there really is a deer leg in my carport. That's not really all that strange. I have a dog. I live out in the boonies. It's deer hunting season and the rut. That last bit means that the deer are going bat shit crazy and running out in front of the cars (from the rut, not the hunters so much) or getting shot by hunters who lose them and the deer goes off in the woods and dies. The second part means that there are a lot of deer around here and a lot of hunters. The first part means that, when able, he'll drag all sorts of crap up in my yard. Luckily, he spends most of his time in the fenced in back yard. My parents' Great Pyrenees has drug entire deer carcasses, bottles, cans, someone's shoes, rabbits domesticated and wild, unidentified body parts, and other assorted treasures because she is free to wander as she pleases. She's actually carried some of my chickens back to my parents house without harming them. It was bizarre.
Today, however, I let Bubba out to pounce through the weeds at the edge of the field while I feed the chickens, put the brewing equipment back in the storage shed and bring in tubs of Christmas decorations in from said shed for K to not go through. I forget the keys, so I sprint back to the house to get them. Realizing that I'll probably be breathing a little hard, I decide to pretend I'm excited and tell K that Bubba just took down a deer. She actually halfway believes me, so I keep stepping up the hyperbole until she finally realizes that her first instinct (that I'm full of shit) was correct as usual.
Here's where it gets weird. I lug out a few more loads of glass carboys and kegs and lug in a few more red and green Rubbermaid tubs of Christmas joy, Bubba (my dog) comes running up to me with a deer leg dangling out of his mouth. Or at least what's left of it. From the bottom joint to hoof is in good condition, but from first joint to knee is mostly devoid of flesh and fur and from knee to the knob that once fit into the hip is nothing but bone. Bubba is happy with his find (I'm not sure where he found it. He didn't actually leave the yard) and trots back and forth following me with my loaded wagon. When I reach the shed, he lies down to gnaw on ligament and jerky-like remnants of meat. When I reach the house, he lies down next to the truck and does the same.
Luckily for me, when I call him in for the night, he places the leg behind the car we don't use anymore and trots through the porch into the back yard to eat his dinner. We still have that half-eaten leg in the car port and I'm not looking forward to getting rid of it.
4 comments:
I swear to god we've got to get down to Hazlehurst. I feel your wanderlust, but it always sounds like you've got some kind of rural utopian existence going on down there. Why would you ever leave such a place? (rhetorical question you've already answered anyway, so don't bother)
Ew.
Eh, I'm sure Bubba will take care of the rest for you, and his teeth will be gleaming white when he's finished after chewing on the bones... Just kidding. Well, kind of. I mean, he'd be doing it if you weren't around.
Wow. That's a heck of a story that I can't really imagine experiencing -- despite being surrounded by the miniature deer from Berry property and having a dog.
I think Sadie is probably too timid to bring home a deer leg, even if she managed to find one. And this I feel confident of: her overly domesticated stomach would not respond well to chewing on carcass. She would almost certainly vomit it back up.
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