Anti-Bambi

  I am not a Bambi lover. Oh sure, I’ve watched the movie and while I don’t exactly root for the hunter, I have found that in Real Life, I prefer my deer with fried potatoes; long eyelashes and talking friends just don’t do it for me. But, when it comes to deer in my backyard, I’m more of a live and let live kind of a gal. Deer only nibble.

Elk are different. Elk are demon spawn, the juvenile delinquents of the animal kingdom. Elk are not interested in just eating your garden, a nibble here, a nibble there; elk love to tear things up by the roots and toss them, uneaten, all around your yard. It’s as if they were lunatic garden designers on some reality television show in a former life: ”I HATE THE PANSIES IN THE FRONT ROW” and then toss all the pansies into your grass.

  Elk trample and smash more than they eat, and they eat a lot. Years ago, when I was optimistic enough to think I could have a vegetable garden without a twelve foot, razor wire topped fence complete with guard towers, I would find my pumpkins busted open, missing a bite here, and a bite there. Fur covered juvenile delinquents, I swear it.

 
These days I don’t have that problem because I don’t have a veggie garden. The cost of razor wire was prohibitive, to say the least. I do, however, have flowers. Everywhere. Beautiful flower gardens that bless the bees and the butterflies—also the slugs, but that’s a different story—tall delphiniums in every shade of blue and lavender, phlox in purple and white, fragrant Stargazer lilies. Until the elk come through, leaving a Katrina-like disaster (minus the Super Dome part) in their wake.

Next week: Sue Gets Even.