Relations with the deer are getting worse. I was riding my electric bicycle on the trails along Riverview Park. Rounding a hairpin curve, I was caused to stop at the sight of a score or so of them. All but a few were fashionably prone, very Christian Dior, evenly and angularly spaced, as if Buckminster Fuller had composed the grouping. It was an arresting sight.
A tall standing doe gave me that can't-you-please look that these snobs seem to practice in the mirror. Then she turned to the fauns and said, "Call one of us if Abe Lincoln starts talking to you." A twelve point buck lowered it's rack at me, more dissappointed than hostle, and said, "We're resting."
As I buzzed away, a scrawny punk six pointer jeered, "Hack. Third string Marlon Perkins investigator!"
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