The Deer Hunter

Who needs coffee when you can get a shot of crazy first thing in the morning? Both options certainly wake you up. But while crazy delivers your wake-up call with a slap across the face, coffee with cream and sugar is far more palatable, and there’s often pastry involved. But sometimes you don’t get a choice; like this one morning when, much to my surprise, crazy was the only item on the menu.

My neighborhood was quiet as my dogs, and I stepped onto the front porch and headed out the gate, ready to vanquish the city streets in our little corner of the world. The lush green visage of an early summer morning washed over me like an unspoken prayer, as the light from a pink-tangerine sunrise shot through lacy tree branches like tentacles in the steamy air. The previous night’s reprieve from the sun had done nothing to cool things down, and despite the fact that it was only 5:45, it was already 80 degrees. 

No one who’s ever met me would describe me as a morning person. But as a dog owner, summer in the South has forced me to become one (or a reasonable facsimile thereof). Every morning, as I drag my ass out of bed to walk my giant dogs, I don the least amount of clothing possible, pull the brim of my ball cap down as far as it will go and head out the door, continually cursing the heat and praying for the time when I’ll be able to sleep until 8:00.

On the morning in question, I was desperately trying to remain awake and upright as 200 pounds of hound dragged me down the block past houses where people without dogs slumbered peacefully (damn them!) Finally, my girls paused to inspect a patch of grass with their stereo smelling nostrils, and I happened to look up just in time to see a very large animal about 50 yards away, bounding across the road. The fact that I’m nearsighted and was practically comatose made the animal tough to identify, and for a moment I wondered if I’d dreamed the entire thing. “What was that?” I asked my dogs, who, still engrossed in their olfactory obsession, hadn’t seen a thing. 

Shaking my head, I continued to trail my canine companions up the block, and when they paused again, I actually began to fall asleep where I stood. What I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee I told them. 

No sooner had I uttered those words than a blue Chevy Nova came flying up the street and screeched to a halt beside me, shaking me awake in the rudest of ways. The woman behind the wheel lived a few blocks away and was someone I avoided on a regular basis. She was a few chips shy of a cookie which would have been fine if she hadn’t felt the need to be so vocal about it. 

“Did you see that deer?” She screamed, craning her head and bony neck through the open window as far as they would go, her eyes bulging with excitement from behind the thick lenses of her wire-rim glasses. 

“Yeah…” I stammered in a semi-comatose voice. Barely managing to connect the mental dots, I thought back to the thing I’d seen galumphing across the road moments before. Although its gait was much more buoyant than a dog’s, in my somnambulant stupor and sans glasses, I’d assumed it was the Great Dane that lived around the corner. “Is that what that was?” I stared at the place I’d originally spotted it, as if it might return for further inspection. I was just about to remark on the animal’s incredible form and how odd it was to see it running through the neighborhood like that when she cut me off mid-thought.

“Yeah!” she yelled purposefully. “Somebody oughta shoot it!”

Her unexpected suggestion floated on the air for a moment, like an awkwardly large cartoon bubble. I was stunned, confused, and a little bit put out. Why in the world was her first inclination to shoot this beautiful creature who was minding its own business, while bounding through people’s yards at dawn? I wanted to ask, but due to the ungodly hour and the shock of hearing her pronouncement, I had absolutely no ability to sling a witty comeback her way. Instead, I just stared at her, speechless; a state, I assure you, I very rarely visit.  

“Not my first inclination,” I wanted to tell her with my outside voice. But the voice in my head reminded me that this was crazy talk and it was entirely possible the woman had a gun in her lap and wouldn’t hesitate to use it if threatened (as she obviously had been by the Bambi sighting). I felt I had no other option than to smile weakly and nod. Taking that as confirmation that she should indeed go after the poor creature, she grinned widely, nodded emphatically in return, and sped away without another word. 

I tried to make sense of the conversation, but finding no way to do so, I just watched as her little blue car rounded the corner and disappeared from view, just as the magnificent, leaping stag had done moments before. As the dogs and I continued with our morning constitutional, I replayed the insane interaction that had just taken place. And despite the fact that I had no idea whether or not my neighbor had indeed pursued the innocent beast in question or just gone home, I did know one thing for sure: I was definitely awake.