I’m glad my
brother warned me.
When he did,
I made a mental note NOT to wander over by Craiger’s cage in the near
future. I rarely do, anyway, so I wasn’t
too worried. (Craiger, in case you do
not know, is the wildest of my brother’s cougars. Raised in captivity by someone who planned to
release him into the wild, he was never socialized—nor was he de-clawed. The result?
A ferocious mountain lion unable to survive on his own.)
Because John
warned me several days ago, I was not wholly unprepared for what greeted me as
I entered his basement. I always do a
visual sweep before I start the laundry, just to be sure that Merlin the bobcat is
where he is supposed to be: in his
cage. What was slightly unnerving this
morning was the doe head in the clear plastic bag by the sink.
Sorry to any
Bambi fans out there. I love deer, too—preferably
alive and not crossing the highway. This
one met her fate in the road and the driver of the deer-mangled car took his
revenge by butchering her for choice cuts.
To John he gave the head, which has been sitting in the freezer ever
since.
She looked
as alive as any disembodied head can, eyes wide open. I felt a little sorry for her and made note
of two very important things to remember:
1. do not look over at the cougar cages when John tosses the head to
Craiger tonight, and 2. NEVER scrounge around in the basement freezer.
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