At four o'clock this morning, a time with which I am intimately acquainted thanks to Little Girl's habit of bringing me live mice in the middle of the night (thank you very much, LG - now CUT IT OUT), there was a big ol' doe out in the front yard, not fifteen feet from the front door.
As I blearily prepared to live-release LG's latest gift (I DON'T EAT MICE, Little Girl), I noticed movement in the front yard. I switched on the porch light and there she was, a hundred pounds of venison on the hoof, and she wasn't moving. The brazen hussy just stood there and looked at me. She finally ambled off into the brush when I opened the screen door and started toward her.
Last weekend, I deer-netted the side garden and the part of the front garden that's closest to the brush line. But if the deer are going to start hanging out in the damn front yard, I'm gonna have to deer-net all the gardens, which will be a pain in the ass, but really it's my only option, because in case you didn't know, deer eat EVERYTHING.
There they are, down by the creek, in their happy little deer-world, all pretty and peaceful, surrounded by acres and acres of nom-worthy plants, and what do they do? They come eat my lilies, that's what they do. And my peonies and my hibiscuses and every other living thing they can get their soft little muzzles around.
And NOW, as it that wasn't bad enough, I evidently have insomniac deer in my neighborhood, coming to raid the proverbial fridge, i.e., my gardens, in the middle of the damn NIGHT.
Christ. Pour yourself a glass of warm milk and go back to sleep, freakin' deer. Leave my flowers alone.