The Cofee Bitch vs. Mother Nature

I really should have learned, after all these years I should have know better. Every time I berate the Gods or Mother Nature they come back to bite my weary old ass. And so it came to pass that I found a dead deer in the front yard. It hadn’t been shot and it didn’t look like a car had hit it. It looked like Mother Nature had just made it wander into my garden and then made it drop dead. Normally VDOT will take care of this sort of problem but only on state maintained roads. Here in Kissbotty County I don’t think that we have state roads so when it comes to garbage removal, snow ploughing (to use the correct spelling) and indeed deer removal, one is pretty much on one’s own. So I had a word with my gentlemen hunters and the consensus of opinion was that I should tie a rope around it and drag it out of smell range into the woods. Well I have recently discovered two new facts. The first is that a dead deer is the biggest fly magnet in the world. The second is that when it comes to smell range, you can never haul a rotting deer too far from your house. With a nice southerly breeze (which blows about 100% of the time) it is now impossible to sit on the deck without retching. I would pull the damned thing further into the trees but as you can imagine I can’t get within 500 feet of it. My only hope is that the neighborhood dogs eat it and then go home to yak up a huge portion of rotten deer bowel onto the marital bed. Now you are probably thinking that this is a tad mean so let me explain. My neighbors (and this is probably a southern thing) seem to think that it is acceptable to let their hounds out in the morning to wander the ‘hood and let me assure you that it is not acceptable. I do not want Blossom wandering into my house like she owns the place. I do not want Spot drinking my solar powered water feature dry and I certainly don’t want Butch ripping open my garbage bags in search of a tasty morsel. Fortunately salvation may be at hand as Virginia has declared a bounty on coyote. So if I stalk out the carcass, give these interlopers both barrels of the trusty BSA 12 gauge and then spray paint them grey, Blossom and her little mates could earn me $25 a pop.

Actually I don’t know why I should be in such a curmudgeonly mood as my predictions in a previous blog turned out to be correct and our takings for last month exceeded my wettest of dreams. I decided to celebrate this wonderful news with a spot of copulation but unfortunately so did the Boss. Fortunately I was able to resolve this dichotomy with a couple of Mogadons and when she was safely tucked up in the arms of Morpheus, sneak out and meet Miss Rita Whiplash behind the potting shed. Even Rita, the shine addled old trollop that she is, complained about the God awful smell but at least I was able honestly reply, for the first time in our “relationship”, “Well it isn’t me my little dominatrix”.

Mercy Mistress Mercy.