What's For Dinner, Dear? Deer.

The last reports were that 42 deer were killed in my neighborhood.  Although that's 42 more than I would have wanted, its l/3 of what they had planned and l0 less than last year.  Old ladies with air horns rule.  The deer though are certainly more cautious.  They still seem to have a sense of danger, fear still must hang in the air. They scatter easily when I drop something or move a little too quickly.  Post traumatic stress disorder.  My brother reminded me that in Trillium at Lake Martin several years ago all the experts came in just as they did here and told them they could cull 2/3 of their deer and the herd would be back to normal in no time. When he moved years later that had never happened.  You might see a deer, but it was not a common occurrence.  It seems that deer have a much better understanding of being mistreated than most middle aged women.  Talking of myself, there.  Deer remember and they prefer to spend their lives where they are appreciated.  I am talking sweetly to the ones in my back yard.  Telling that the worst is over and that they can relax.  They look at me with  some skepticism.    All I can promise is that we will try to protect them. The irony of all this is that I live in a wildlife preservation area.  Its been one of the ways our neighborhood was marketed. Obviously preservation doesn't mean a thing to a lot of people.  Someone told me its semantics.  Preservation as opposed to reservation.  The latter seems to only apply to Indians and dinner.  And that's what became of the 42 deer.  Someone's dinner.