Tuesday, October 08, 2013

Good Mornin'!

It was before 7 a.m. and the phone rang. I naturally decide that someone is dead or close to it due to the hour of the call. No, it was our sprinkler guy who wanted to blow out the water lines for the winter. First thing out of his mouth was, I hope I didn't call you too early..... If you have to say it, it's too early. G was already up and walking Bella but I was comatose in the sack. I was pissed. I didn't get to finish my dream. Now, the guy is here and you can tell he is a bit contrite. He should be.

 So I had to get up and out of bed so I come down stairs, bitching of course, and Bella is barking her head off. I follow her gaze and see a large group of deer, just playing at the waters edge.

I run to get my camera and open up the deck doors to take a picture and Bella is still barking but I don't let her out, so as to not wake up the neighbors and all the deer hear her and

take off in a sprint.  I love 'em and hate 'em.  Probably more love than hate.  That is, unless I have hosta; which I don't anymore, thanks to the deer!

This is life in Indiana.


Claudia said...

When we came home from you house in August, all nine of my Hosta's were dirt leveled. Mine is more hate than love, as they also ate all 4 of my geranium pots as their dessert. So I've dug up my Hostas and mulched where they were. No use trying to outwit them. Oh, I live in suburbia, with a fence...what?

Gayle from MI said...

Awesome! I can't wait to see that view deer or not.

dee said...

I get a great close-up almost daily in my yard. The Lucy Alert barking frenzy system lets me know when they are there. Some days I go out and forget about them until I walk to my car and stare straight into the faces of about 5-6 of them. One very large buck with multiple antlers. Every neighbor around me has a veggie garden-I think they hide from the angry villagers with torches in the woods behind my house. Kind of amusing since I don't have a garden yet due to the construction. I'm sure I'll change my tune next year.