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Jun. 28th, 2007 10:28 amLooked out my window this morning, and lo, there they were!
Two horned hooved Hoovers making eyes towards the heaths and heathers. Several red maples and a handful of raspberries had already felt their wrath. Beautiful animals really, but the reverie ended when the aimed for the young plants on the bank. Snapped my fingers a couple of times to get their attention, and then a quick hiss and a click of my tongue and they were off to wreak havoc in other places. Most likely other parts of my yard.
A couple weeks ago I saw a fawn - knee high to a grasshopper, all spotted, and on wobbly but workable legs. I was glad they were at the side of the road, because I imagine the conniptions I saw doe and fawn go through would have been worse if one or the other had been implanted in my grill.
I think my biggest issue with Rodentia clovenoofus is that their population is reaching a flashpoint. Although I would prefer they didn't stop at certain plants - I know I choose tasty varieties, but there's plenty of yummy red maples to go around, and, even though I've never seen a bite taken from a single oak leaf, you're allegedly supposed to prefer them over all other forms of food - but I really don't mind seeing them. Seeing whole herds go through, and endangering all foliage within six or so feet of the ground is a bit much. I don't know if increased hunting quotas is the solution - for some reason the deer seem to outsmart the hunters anyway, as the hunters report them as scarce when I see twenty animals on the same rounds for weeks at a time. It would take a drunk moron not to be able to... well, I suppose that's part of the problem.
This morning, I saw yet another temporary hood ornament, the carcass stashed headfirst (possibly headless) at the side of the road. I find at least three major problems with this.
First off, the animal is killed, but it serves no purpose. I rather prefer the idea that, when an animal's life is taken, it should serve a need - food, shelter, comfort - as it did Once Upon a Time. Thanks are then given for what has been provided. Not once a year, schedule-it-on-your-calendar thanks, but everyday, everytime, every bite, every bit of warmth or utility given thanks. Otherwise, like sport hunting and trophy claiming, it's just senseless murder to prove your better than something else because, really, you're not even close.
Second, how cool are we that we just stumble around, flattening things in our wake. Lumbering behemoths with no grasp of the harm we do. Ka-thunk. Of course, deer aren't small little defenseless animals, they're larger animals that may or may not do some additional damage beyond the initial impact as they flail in panic and cause hundreds or thousands of dollars of damage before they limp off into the woods and, likely, die of the injuries inflicted. Sure, it's an accident. And sure, some of the problem is that we made life safe by killing off the top predators, or, as with the bear, neutralizing them by training them to eat birdseed instead of prey that's faster on the hoof. Some of the problem is that there are just too many of us, and we're squeezing them out of the forests in our rush to pave the world.
And last, and steadily diminishing - if not least, this once majestic animal, this Eater of Things I Plant, is laid low and left to rot on the roadside, where predators who sneak a bite might be the next to be flattened if they exit on the wrong side of the table; where, through vegetation stripped bare, and unnatural surfaces that funnel too much rainwater, it can be swept quickly into our water supply, a vector of disease.
Two horned hooved Hoovers making eyes towards the heaths and heathers. Several red maples and a handful of raspberries had already felt their wrath. Beautiful animals really, but the reverie ended when the aimed for the young plants on the bank. Snapped my fingers a couple of times to get their attention, and then a quick hiss and a click of my tongue and they were off to wreak havoc in other places. Most likely other parts of my yard.
A couple weeks ago I saw a fawn - knee high to a grasshopper, all spotted, and on wobbly but workable legs. I was glad they were at the side of the road, because I imagine the conniptions I saw doe and fawn go through would have been worse if one or the other had been implanted in my grill.
I think my biggest issue with Rodentia clovenoofus is that their population is reaching a flashpoint. Although I would prefer they didn't stop at certain plants - I know I choose tasty varieties, but there's plenty of yummy red maples to go around, and, even though I've never seen a bite taken from a single oak leaf, you're allegedly supposed to prefer them over all other forms of food - but I really don't mind seeing them. Seeing whole herds go through, and endangering all foliage within six or so feet of the ground is a bit much. I don't know if increased hunting quotas is the solution - for some reason the deer seem to outsmart the hunters anyway, as the hunters report them as scarce when I see twenty animals on the same rounds for weeks at a time. It would take a drunk moron not to be able to... well, I suppose that's part of the problem.
This morning, I saw yet another temporary hood ornament, the carcass stashed headfirst (possibly headless) at the side of the road. I find at least three major problems with this.
First off, the animal is killed, but it serves no purpose. I rather prefer the idea that, when an animal's life is taken, it should serve a need - food, shelter, comfort - as it did Once Upon a Time. Thanks are then given for what has been provided. Not once a year, schedule-it-on-your-calendar thanks, but everyday, everytime, every bite, every bit of warmth or utility given thanks. Otherwise, like sport hunting and trophy claiming, it's just senseless murder to prove your better than something else because, really, you're not even close.
Second, how cool are we that we just stumble around, flattening things in our wake. Lumbering behemoths with no grasp of the harm we do. Ka-thunk. Of course, deer aren't small little defenseless animals, they're larger animals that may or may not do some additional damage beyond the initial impact as they flail in panic and cause hundreds or thousands of dollars of damage before they limp off into the woods and, likely, die of the injuries inflicted. Sure, it's an accident. And sure, some of the problem is that we made life safe by killing off the top predators, or, as with the bear, neutralizing them by training them to eat birdseed instead of prey that's faster on the hoof. Some of the problem is that there are just too many of us, and we're squeezing them out of the forests in our rush to pave the world.
And last, and steadily diminishing - if not least, this once majestic animal, this Eater of Things I Plant, is laid low and left to rot on the roadside, where predators who sneak a bite might be the next to be flattened if they exit on the wrong side of the table; where, through vegetation stripped bare, and unnatural surfaces that funnel too much rainwater, it can be swept quickly into our water supply, a vector of disease.
