Good grief. Even *I* am sorry for that one. But anyway…

The dead deer next door has diminished. We went from full-on carcass on Christmas Eve to naught but skinned haunches on Boxing Day. And now there remains but one full leg and part of another, dangling from dainty hooves. I guess he’s dismembering it bit by bit for his dogs. Yum. Rancid deer. Mmm, mmm. Boy howdy.

Given that I’m a pretty affable person who doesn’t like to stir the pot unless it’s absolutely necessary, I wonder if I’m just too willing to block stuff out. I’m completely revolted by this, but I know that any overture I make won’t change a single thing. Sean says to let it go…that at some point, hopefully this summer, we will be able to either landscape or fence them out in a day or a weekend, and that will be the end of it. I just can’t think of any rational person who would say, hey, I have this dead deer. Let’s hang it upside down in a tree and slowly hack away at it for dog food. Then again, I use phrases like “naught but skinned haunches,” so who am I trying to kid.

Note to self: Find poor sap who works nights to buy current house, and move on to better neighbors. Word.

Advertisements