Six years. That’s how long I lived on Lake Lanier among the sticks and you would think among the wildlife. Not so, unless you count the neighbor’s horse who showed up in our yard occasionally. He was a plow horse and not very wild. He just liked the shade of the oak in our front yard.
It was always the same scenario. I would be practicing piano and get that feeling. You know the one where you feel like you’re being watched? I would turn around slowly and, sure enough, I would see him standing there staring through the large windows that fed light into our living room.
The only other example I can recall is the copperhead snake that was thrusting himself against our sliding glass door. That didn’t last long. Dad got all Biblical and took the scripture about man’s heel bruising the serpent’s head literally, except he didn’t use his heel. Suffice it to say, never underestimate what a South Georgia farm boy can do with a hoe. It was the first time I saw farming as a martial art.
Outside of those, there were no wildlife sightings. Apparently, for that kind of action I had to move into the city. Since then, I feel like I’m in one of those National Geographic documentaries.
Not too many years after my wife and I moved into town, I began walking to work. I lived less than two miles from the office and gas had jumped to four bucks a gallon. Walking into work at 4 a.m. can be fun…no, really. But it can also be a bit unnerving, especially when you encounter a fox.
I was strolling along the sidewalk when I saw something crossing the street about 20 yards ahead of me. Wow, that sure is a big cat. No wait. It’s a small dog. No that’s wrong too. The shadow moved into a pool of illumination spilling from a street light and revealed itself to be a fox. He was casually crossing the street cruising for whatever it is that foxes cruise for at four in the morning. I’m guessing it may have been another fox, since later my wife and I would often spot the pair in the woods near our home. Kits were occasionally trailing behind them.
Then there were the masked marauders.
Upon waking up thirsty in the middle of a summer night, I shuffled into the kitchen to wet my whistle. Our refrigerator was at a right angle to the back door and I opened it to reach in for a swig of milk (okay…okay I confess. I was going to drink straight from the carton. Like you haven’t?) The light from the fridge made me aware of shadowy figures on the deck. I thought it was our cat wanting in so I flipped on the outside light and began to open the door. As it turned out, it wasn’t the cat. It was a raccoon. He was big, bold, belligerent, and eating the cat’s food. He wasn’t alone. There were two more. One was on the deck rail and the other on the deck beside his buddy.
In addition to the regular door, we had a storm door. None of the visitors seemed to care that I had just busted their little cat food heist. I noticed the cat laying on one of the chairs at the patio table. She casually raised her head. Upon surveying the situation, she slowly put her head back down. Obviously she was not in the mood to put her rabies vaccination to the test. Seeing her reaction stopped me from my reflexive impulse to open the storm door and chase them off. Doing so wouldn’t have been the best idea. The big guy was already blocked on his left by the railing. Opening the door would have blocked his escape to the right. Since the path of least resistance would be to run forward, I choose to keep the door closed. It’s one thing to have a big, belligerent raccoon eating the cat’s food on the deck. It’s another thing entirely to have him stroll in, make a sandwich and watch television on the coach. They’re real remote hogs, so I’ve been told.
We had a bear stroll the streets one time too. I wasn’t there to see it, but it made our news that morning just a few hours after I had walked those same streets on the way to work. I’m guessing he’d heard he could score free cat food at the end of the street. Raccoons also brag a lot, so I’ve been told.
Fortunately, he never made it down to our house as I’m sure the koi in our pound would have been more to his liking than Meow Mix. The blue heron, on the other hand, had no qualms about picking the pond clean. We saw him perched on the frame that held the tire swing. It was the only time we saw him and the last time we saw our fish. I blame the raccoons. Blabber mouths.
We have since moved from that house to another one in town where wildlife still abounds. We have a groundhog; Chuck is his name. He has a vacation home on the hill behind the house. Although my wife thinks he’s the one who ate her flowers that were in a pot on the patio, I’m sure it was the deer. And we’ve seen plenty of them including one herd of about fifteen.
They really complicate my morning drive. Nothing ruins a quiet commute like turning a Bambi in to a BLAM-bee. It’s true there are dedicated seasons for bow and gun hunting, but you can take one with a Buick anytime. That doesn’t mean I wanted to, but the thing just popped out in front of me. Good thing for him I was slowing down for a stop sign. He got up and scampered away leaving a cloud of hair. He wound up with a limp and I wound up with a hole in the front of my car and a dent in my wallet.
Granted, it’s hard to avoid them. I think they’re getting lessons on crossing the road from squirrels. I can hear them now.
“No, not so early. Wait until they are close enough for you to read the VIN number on the windshield. Then cross!”
I think the squirrels have it in for the deer. They’re probably funded by the raccoons.
Recently as I cautiously made my morning commute, I spotted a young buck walking along the road. He seemed to be in a trance and totally oblivious to me. Having heard all the talk about a zombie apocalypse, I rolled up my window and closed the sunroof. That’s when I saw her. As the Von Trappe family put it, a doe, a deer, a female deer. She was walking slowly down the middle of the road. No wait, she was sashaying. That’s when I recognized the look on the buck’s face. I remember seeing it staring back at me from the mirror when I was 13 and realized girls might not be so bad, although I wasn’t sure why. Neither was he.
It’s all in your perspective, I suppose. For me it was just another morning commute. For them: Date Night.
Ah….wild life. Uh, wildlife. Whatever.
