Dear Deer
So innocent and spotted
At this stage you’re a fawn
I watch through windows laughing
As you crap upon my lawn
‘Tis not manure I’m lacking
My dog gives more each day
It’s the blossoms you are snacking
That leads to my dismay.
I love my garden blooming
Worked hard to make it so
But you, so nonchalantly
Eat the blossoms ‘ere they grow.
I see now drastic measures
Are the order of the day
My dog and I come bursting forth
To scare you all away
Yet you stand there and you stare at me
Like “What’s your problem, lady?”
And I stare into those big doe eyes
And retreat to somewhere shady.
While I watch your steady munching
Your ears twitching to and fro
I think about toy M-16’s
My youngest son does stow
I think of plots and mayhem
Of hunters I could call
Then without a backward glance
You’re no longer there at all.
Yeah, Yeah - Wadsworth isn't rolling over in his grave.....yet!
I should probably be writing Ode to a Hamster. I am afraid that Jorge, my younger son's much beloved and abnormally long-lived hamster is looking close to requiring the Final Rights. As hamsters go, Jorge has been a wonderful pet. He has never bit anyone; is very tolerant of the indignity of being dug out from his nest under his running wheel at all hours of the day to be paraded in front of strangers and man-handled unmercifully by the younger ones. Personally, if my husband dragged me out in the middle of the night to show me off to his friends and passed me around to be cuddled and petted......OK, never mind.....I just realized that is not a place I want to or should go. Anyway, we are bracing ourselves for the next hamster funeral. I say next, because Jorge comes from a long line of now ex hamsters, may they RIP. I guess if my metabolism ran as fast as theirs, I would probably die in 3 - 4 years as well.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is our parrot, Paulie, who will probably outlive us all....well my husband and I anyway.....unless of course, my husband and older son have anything to say about it. He is an endearing, annoying, infuriating blue-crown conure which, unfortunately, is akin to having a perpetual 2 year-old child who lives for 35-40 years. While I have nothing against 2 year old children, having had two of them myself, it has always been appreciated when they become 5 year old children who can then be reasoned with on occasion. I mean, eventually they stop having temper tantrums if they don't get what they want, and they stop insisting they must talk to you just as you get on the phone. They are also potty-trained by then and while the occasional accident is tolerable, they do not insist on pooping all over your shoulder. Then again, my kids never sat on my shoulders for any length of time except maybe at the Disneyland parade, so perhaps that is an unfair comparison.
Well, Jorge is still alive. I keep going over to his cage and blowing a little poof of air on him to see if he reacts. I'm probably contributing to the poor things' demise by giving him heart palpitations every time I check on him. I imagine being that small and feeling something breathing on you is probably not a comforting event. I'll just peak in from now on and keep the tissue-lined shoebox prepared.
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