The hay has been cut so the deer are moving closer to the garden area. There is a large apple tree out here and the deer wait under it for the apples to fall 25 feet to the ground. When the apples are done the deer will move over to the peaches. None of the fruit trees out here seem to produce fruit in sync with the trees of area growers, and in any case the fruit is not all that edible. The apples are too hard and the peaches get decimated by bugs. But the deer don't seem to mind this. When the fruit is done they will start in earnest to destroy as much of the landscaping as possible. The hostas are delicious, the laurel bushes are tasty, the roses sharp but not without merit. Deer repellent made from putrescent egg, garlic, and other ingredients may have some effect on their appetites but I am not yet ready to swear by it. I was photographing the deer, waiting for them to do something memorable. They were looking back at me, likewise waiting for me to do something memorable.
Bernadette came up looking for me so she could again 40 Love my ass on the tennis court. What? Oh yes, it is true, there is no end to my heroic feats, playing with a stubbed toe and all. She saw the deer under the apple tree but not me on the other side of the azaleas, photographing out into the field. She yelled at the deer because she is still joined with me in the limited hope that we can somehow convince nature to behave in a way counter to its inclination. She then saw me and said, oh sorry, you were taking pictures? I said yes, but not to worry because I needed some action shots.
Ready to play? I said, and she said, when you are. I am ready, I said, and snapped one last shot of a deer pretending to be a small headed donkey.
