Read at your own risk. Some people may find the following offensive…
Randy, Jackie, and Mohawk arrived at camp for a week of no neighbors on telephones who share too much information, cigarette smoke, and the sound of a lung as it’s hacked up.
The locals at camp are cool. There are two quiet does, two fawns, and a groundhog that lives under the big rock. We didn’t even mind the raccoon that made a mess of the fire pit. (We knew it was you, Mr. Raccoon. You left muddy paw prints.) Our plan for the week was to live like every day’s a Saturday because that’s how retired folks live. I was up for enjoying the practice.
We got a whiff of something dead around camp. The smell came with circling buzzards. Mohawk finally located the source, two gross deer legs that were stuck in the Y of a tree during hunting season. Randy took the rotting deer legs down the road to dispose of them. The following story is told from the victim’s point of view.
“There I was chilling out in the heat of the day in a bed of ferns and minding my own business. I get hit with something. I jumped up and there’s this asshole flinging something at me. Startled, I looked down to see what it was. OMG!!! I almost fainted. Remember, girls, how we thought Donna had run off with some young buck? Well, she didn’t! Donna is dead, and some asshole hit me with two of her legs.”
And that’s how Randy scarred a doe for life by chucking rotting deer legs into the forest and startling her from her bed.
Camp smelled better. Sorry, doe.