This was around Christmas time. I'll get caught up one of these days.
With it being a new year, I thought I’d shake things up a bit and shift the emphasis from the perils of yours truly and meander across a few recent casual observations.
I’ve noticed a significant increase in the shiny-Christmas-deer-ornament population in the last few years. Not to be outdone, the subdivision where I live jumped on the bandwagon and acquired several of these artificial animals and placed them strategically near the entrances to the sub. I suspect the homeowners association acquired the lot at a bargain price, perhaps picking them up at a garage sale, for the little sparkling darlings looked a little off from the start – at least the ones stationed near the entrance that I use most often.
Not being merely statues, these blinking beauties laid claim to a rather awkward form of movement: the doe, being the hungrier of the two, would raise her head then lower it to the ground where she would munch a couple bites of grass before starting the process over again; the buck’s head rotated in constant vigil. These were no run of the mill plastic venison. As time passed, however, the pair’s motor skills began to deteriorate. By the time Christmas was near, it was almost painful to watch the poor deer in their gallant maintenance of their routine. The doe’s head, now stuck in the lowered position, could no longer reach a height of more than a couple inches, though she kept trying, which gave her the appearance of sadness, while the buck, having developed a rare neural disorder, twitched spastically. It wasn’t pretty.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, disaster struck. I believe it was the day after Christmas when I drove by to see the buck lying on his back, his four legs sticking in the air. But that wasn’t all. Perhaps someone could no longer take the ugly bump and grind of the mechanical pair and decided to take matters into their own hands. Not only was the buck on his back, but he’d also been decapitated, his twitching head writhing beside him. This alone would have been hard to take, but the sight of the buck’s heartbroken mate, weeping by his side, was just too much.
Read chapter one of Twisted Perception at http://www.bobavey.com
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