“Ooh yes, there are some mean snakes out in those woods behind your house. The DNR won’t even go back there, on account of the rattlesnakes being so nasty. The snakes go underground to hibernate, but the quarry blasts every day and they never get to sleep because the vibrations wake them up. Makes them nasty.”
Jerry, the neighbor, stopped by on his way to the dump to enlighten us about our property. It was not an entirely altruistic visit. He was mostly interested in hunting the deer that frequent the area.
“Sure would like to get back there and have a look around for the big one.”
“Well, we have bees and I would hate for you to get stung,” Daddy Longlegs explained.
Daddy Longlegs happened to be holding a machete from skinning a cedar tree that he had big plans for, once he figured out what to do about the termites that lived under the bark. The machete was not a deterrent to Jerry, the neighbor. Afterall, one doesn’t bring a machete to a gunfight and I assume Jerry has lots of guns because every time we see him, he talks about shooting things.
“You would only see me if I had to pull one (assuming this is a deer) out that I shot over here.”
Jerry, the neighbor, was not taking an indirect, super polite, Midwestern style of no for an answer. I’m not exactly sure how things were left but I won’t be surprised to see a big, maroon truck parked at the edge of the trees and even more disturbing, as I write, I can hear a shotgun in the distance.
This conversation was all recounted to me as I was inside sorting clothes while the baby napped. It makes me angry to envision, Jerry, the neighbor, shooting the deer that we have come to see as friends and then dragging their bodies through the woods, over our yard and into his waiting truck.
All in all, I do not like the arrangement. Not for the snakes, the deer, or us.
A man must eat, certainly, but I would prefer that he found the means to do so elsewhere.
And maybe consider a vegetarian lifestyle.