Deer

I herd they’re fairly scary. I find it stag-gering that there isn’t more information available to the public.

THE STARS:

Bleeding heart leftist media and pinky communist propaganda left over from behind the Iron Curtain would have you believe that deer are the VICTIMS. Just peruse your VHS collection for the tale of Bambi, an innocent orphan whose mother is shot by evil hunters. What they’re not telling you is that Bambi’s mother was taking local jobs and was a drain on state welfare.

LACK OF STARS:

In reality, deer are iron legged hoof monsters that plague our shores like large majestic rats. Like other pests, they must have stowed away in the cargo bays of large wooden galleons when the convicts came over, which is both a testament to the incredible creepy sneak of the deer and their indomitable persistence.

In Australia, deer are an enormous pest that ruin the fun for all the other animals. Their sharp hooves destroy foliage and top soil and their merciless teeth strip the bark from trees and make them sad enough to die.

But the sinister threat of deer are not limited to the animal kingdom – nay, while it may be hard to conceive of while living amongst the bright lights and flaming meth addicts of the city, in the dark forests and urban fringes of Australia, the deer lurk and are terrifying.

When I lived in a tiny place called Maianbar, in the middle of the Royal National Park, it was an unspoken rule that when night fell, we would retreat to our cottages and shanties, as the deer would roam. In strangely silent processions they would ghost through our streets and along the beaches, lurking under the dark eaves of the gum trees. Strange, but it’s not like they need human blood to stay young, right?

To illustrate, I once brought a group of my friends to stay in my house, for some light singing and heavy beverage consumption. In the middle of the night, two of my friends decided they would take a wander through the cold bushlands that ringed my house. Filled with the false bravado of the schnapps, they were heedless of my warnings, and decided to go anyway. Scarcely were they gone more than fifteen minutes, before one returned, wild eyed and crazed, babbling about a sound, a sound they heard in the woods. When I asked about his companion, he admitted that they had bolted in separate directions when they had heard the unearthly cry. Later our friend arrived, pale and silent, as if he had discovered an unholy truth, a harsh mystery.

Having grown in the area, I was knew exactly what they had heard. It was the sound a deer makes, half bark, half sad baby, half banshee wail. Truly, it is impossible to describe the blood clenching horror of it. At night you can hear it echoing across the bay, and widows tighten the bolts on their windows and bearded men polish their shotguns silently.
But during their walk, they had unwittingly blundered right into the midst of a herd – even I can scarcely imagine the shock of hearing that sound only a few metres away, coming from the pitch black of a moonless night. Lesser men would have lost their sanity. Luckily they had very little to lose in the first place.

Was actually a bunch of crows duct taped together.

If that’s not enough to convince you of the deer threat, here’s a story directly from my ‘Top 5 Near Death Experiences’ folder, of which only one has been previously mentioned in this blog.
In this same house in Maianbar, I soon outgrew my tiny cupboard room (I’m talking literally, I could not physically lie lengthwise in that room) and was moved to a caravan in the backyard. This caravan was awesome, and had the added benefit of being set up right next to an outdoor bathroom.

So, one night I wake up in the middle of the night to a strange noise, like a tree branch scratching along the outside of the caravan, right near my head. It’s vastly annoying, so I decide to kill two birds with one stone, and get rid of the branch and pee.
So, as I walk out of my caravan (naked. I’m… just always naked.) I look in the small gap between the caravan and the bathroon, thinking to see a branch caught between the gap from one of the overhanging trees. Instead what I see is an enormous stag, wedged between them by his spreading rack of antlers.

I had weird hair at this point in time. 

Seeing me must have given him the fear (or perhaps the hate) to spring free, and so suddenly, in the middle of the night, bleary eyed and sleepy, I am diving away from the full force of a charging stag. It missed, but I know that deer have long memories and even longer antlers.

THE SCORE:

1/5 stars. (It was pretty funny seeing people so scared actually)

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