When Deer Seek Asylum

When Deer Seek Asylum

By James L. Davis

I was awakened in the middle of the night.

“Stay down. They might be watching.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

“They’re trying to kill me.”

I’m not used to being awakened in the middle of the night, except by my wife’s dog, who will on occasion yawn to tell me she wants to go outside.   Not that she needs to go outside; she just wants to go out in the middle of the night to have a look around. 

Not used to being awakened by a strange voice in the middle of the night, I asked the obvious: “Who are ‘They’?”

“I don’t know,” my late-night intruder responded. “But there’s thousands of them, all dressed in orange.”

I reached out and turned on the night stand light and my wife mumbled incoherently and threw the blankets over her head.  I wished she hadn't because I wasn't quite prepared to deal with what was in our bedroom. There was a deer standing at the end of our bed, looking rather distressed.

“You’re a deer,” I said, stating the obvious.

“I’m a Buck,” my intruder informed me.

“Well, why are you in my bedroom?” I asked.

“Because they’re trying to kill me!” The deer went to my elliptical and started to work out.  I was wondering who kept changing the level setting. “I don’t know who they are. I don’t know what I’ve done. But they’re out to kill me.”

I tried again to rub the sleep from my eyes. “Well, you’re a deer.”

“The dog said you were quick.”

“You talk to the dog?”

“Sometimes she comes out at night and we chat.”

“That explains a lot.  What I meant was you are a deer and it is Deer Season.”

“Meaning?” The deer was up to level nine on the elliptical and still not breathing hard. That explains why they can jump so well.

“Meaning that the people in orange are hunters and they’re trying to kill you for a reason.”

“What reason? I don’t even know who they are.”

“Well, either to eat you or to cut your head off and put it on their wall.”

The buck climbed off the elliptical.  “You’re kidding, right?

“Afraid not,” I said.

“Are you a hunter?”

“Nope.” I said. “I don’t care for the taste of deer meat.”

“So now you’re saying I taste bad.”

“I didn't say you tasted bad. I didn't realize deer were so hostile.”

“Hostile!” The deer raised his voice, making my wife mumble and bury herself deeper within the covers. “Let me tell you about hostile. I’m getting ready for the rut, feeling pretty good about myself, wanting to strut around a little, and then all of a sudden BAM! People I don’t even know are shooting at me. Wouldn't you be hostile?”

“Suppose so. But could you keep it down, you’ll wake my wife and the kids.”

“I’m a deer.” The deer pranced to my side of the bed “They won’t understand me.”

“I do,” I said.

“Yes. But you’re not normal.”

“So I've been told. What do you want from me anyway?”

“Sanctuary.”

“Sorry, all my neighbors are hunters and I don’t want them storming through the house looking for you. You can take my orange hat and vest if you want, maybe they’ll think you’re a hunter yourself.”

“Fat chance. I've got a rack to die for.”

“Interesting choice of words,” I said. “Why’d you come to me in the first place?”

“Your dog said you might be able to help me.”

“ I've got to do something about that dog.”

The deer was pacing now and I could see he was becoming quite agitated again. “You’re not going to remember any of this when you wake up, are you?”

“I sincerely hope not,” I said.

The buck turned and bounced out of my room, down the hall and out the door and I was able to get back to sleep.

The next morning I was quite convinced that I either needed to cut back on my caffeine intake or go immediately into therapy. But then I noticed that my safety hat and vest were missing. There were deer droppings on my welcome mat as well and to top it off what I had always thought was a yawn from my wife’s dog now seemed suspiciously like a laugh.