A True Blackrock Welcome

My sister arrived yesterday for a short visit, and one of the very first things she did was help A. dispose of a dead deer.

Perhaps I should back up and explain? Okay. I'll begin at the beginning and go on until I reach the end.

Yesterday morning, Cubby and I went out for a little chariot ride and some fresh air. Except HE was the only one riding--I had to push. Just ONCE, I would like him to push me around. Lazy bum.

ANYWAY.

We went down to the mailbox so I could mail yet another thank-you note and pick up the morning newspaper. As soon as I started down the driveway, I could see that the newspaper box had been knocked to the ground. Assuming it was just some punk-ass kids with a baseball bat (mailbox bashing is a popular late-night activity for teenagers in the boonies), I continued on my way, cursing* those kids these days, because I am 80 years old.

When I got down to the road and could see to the other side and down into the slight dip that leads to the lakeshore, I saw . . . something. My first panicked thought was that it was a dog, because it was the same color as Mia and Leda. Upon closer inspection--by which I mean a second look from far away, not actually closer because I'm a wimp--I saw it was a dead deer. That was very, very dead and already covered in flies. Yay. It had obviously been hit on the road sometime the night before. This time, however, we were not going to be salvaging it for our freezer. You know, because of the flies and all. A pretty good indication of a lack of freshness.

ANYWAY AGAIN.

It still needed to be moved, however, so the dogs wouldn't try to cross the road to get to the delicious-smelling carcass on the other side. (I'm sure there's a joke in there, but I'm not clever enough to make it.) Also so I wouldn't keep coming face to face with a putrefying deer every time I went to the mailbox.

So I wheeled Cubby back up to the house, where I informed A. that there was a large dead deer right next to our mailbox. He called the DEC to report it (technically the legal thing to do) and they said if we dragged it onto the side of the road, the highway department might take it away. A. very politely replied that it would be a hot day in Blackrock before the highway department got around to THAT (or words to that effect). Then they told him he could just dispose of it himself and no one would care.

Except he was really busy yesterday. And then he had to drive to the airport to pick up my sister. And then we had dinner. And then it was 8 p.m. and the deer was STILL down there, getting grosser by the minute in the stifling humidity. So A. and I grabbed our work gloves and hauled the thing into the back of Big Red. Then my sister--you know, our guest--climbed into the cab of the truck and went with A. to dump it in a gully where scavengers other than our dogs would eat it. Of course, she's a veterinarian, so dead animals aren't exactly a novelty to her, but still. Gross.

Last time she was here, she helped us spread shit-straw on the garden. This time she's hauling around a dead deer. I really don't know why she keeps coming back. Must be the novelty factor. You just never know what's going to happen on a visit to Blackrock!

At least the food is good.

* Only in my head. Because of the BABY, you know.