By Maryanna Gabriel
In all my years of island living, I have never experienced anything like this. The deer has been in every day since my last post. There are actually one or two plants left. Action requested, but what? Sitting like Ma Kettle with a shotgun across my knee is not exactly what is called for. Tempting thought, though. A dog? Electric fence?
"If only you would bark," I say to Jasper, the cat. He remained silent on the subject.
So I went about repairing the plantings as best I could and chained the gate. There that'll do it. Except she came back. More damage. Chased her out. A huge doe with no spots. Of course, she is huge. And smart. How is she getting in?
I walked the perimeter inside and out. There was an area that looked disturbed so I set about plugging the base of the fencing with a board and rocks. There that'll do it. Then relaxed. Again she returned. Again, I chased and this time she showed me her spot - a different place off my deck. Ah hah, now I have you, my pretty. Building a blockage with what little wire fencing I had, I relaxed, watered, and repaired. Replanted to try and restitute some greens before snow flies - there is always hope.
Yesterday I was practically humming and took off the protective sheeting from the broccoli and romaine stumps so they would grow. I could always wash off the deer saliva. And relaxed.
Well, last night I was lying in bed when I heard a clunk. Geez. Her. She jumped the blockade. Quite the feat actually, given the angles. Out I went in my nightie as she eyed what little was left of the romaine. This time she surprised me. She exited from a different spot by leaping a gated, eight-foot high rock wall and squeezing herself along a two-foot crawl space beneath the deck, maybe twenty feet. Wow. A regular Houdini.
So I've moved more stuff to make entry as uninviting as possible. The way I figure it, the next jump could break her leg. So now I am not really relaxed at all.
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| Blockaded. Waiting with baited breath... |