Dad arrived home this evening with a smile on his face. Admist some faint blood spatters.
Me: “You got something?”
Dad: “What do you think? Look at my pants.” Which also had blood spatters on them.
Every time I try to explain this situation to someone, I always say, “He kills deer for this lady [we always call her “the deer lady”] who lives in the park” and then people stare and gawp until I realize that they think I mean that she’s homeless so she lives in the park. No. She has a house. And a barn, and a horse, and a large poodle named Velcro. She lives on the fringe of the parks, and of course that means she is overrun by deer. So she apparently called the park people every day until they allowed her to have “designated killers” to shoot deer on her land whenever the vermin step hoof on it. (Are deer’s feet even called hooves? I thought they were cloven hooves or something… Right?)
So, she calls Dad now, instead of the park, and he gets his gun and tries to shoot something and bring home the bacon– er, venison.
Dad: “Yeah, while I was there another one of her killers showed up with a trail cam.”
Mom: “Why didn’t he bring a gun?”
Dad: “That’s what the deer lady said. Apparently I’m the only one who came prepared.”
Mom: “So you’re her favorite killer now.”
Well. Now there is a carcass in the shed.
Dad: “Good thing I didn’t get pulled over on the way home. They probably would have wondered about the blood spatters on my face…”
Me: (thinking, And the tarp wrapped around what appears to be a corpse in the back of the truck… And then trying to explain by saying he is some lady’s ‘killer’… Yeah, that would’ve gone very well.)
Anyway. That is the excitement for today. Food chain, circle of life, blah blah blah, tacos. Also, Poncho and I were home by just our two selves today, and so I made him a fancy dinner (by fancy I mean, rolls and candy broccoli and scrambled eggs.)
Poncho: “The broccoli is really good.”
Poncho: “And the rolls. Much better than Mom’s.”
Me: “Yeah, because Mom is always distracted and burns them so it’s like eating a lump of coal.”
Poncho: “Or one of your pizza rolls…”
Poncho: “Sorry! But you burn them. Every. Time.”