DISCLAIMER: Animals were hurt during the making of this post. Really hurt. Like Bambi’s mother hurt.
This weekend, Babs, my mom, sent an email with two troubling pictures attached. The email was entitled, He Finally Snagged One.
She was quite put out, because her neighbors recently constructed what she called The Gallows in their backyard. Every time Babs set foot on her porch, this monstrosity was in plain sight.
Before I show you these pictures, you need to understand that my parents live in suburban New Jersey, in a town full of white-collar yuppies who take the local train into Manhattan for work. They shop at Pottery Barn. They buy artisanal bread. Their kids play lacrosse.
In my parents’ world, the world in which I grew up, people have graduation parties and swing sets in their back yards. They do not have…well. This:
I’m sorry, Babs. If it makes you feel any better, now that Peppermeister and I are out in western New Jersey, we have deer in our backyard every day, too.
Of course, they’re still alive…
Do you have any neighbor horror stories? No? Any good venison recipes?
Go Jules Go 