Maybe the hostas were the appetizer, the black-eyed Susans the main course, and the day lilies dessert.
Hardly a perennial flower in sight. The deer got ’em all.
Bambi, you say? Screw Bambi.
Twice I came home from work last week to find Bambi in the driveway, munching on the flora.
“SCRAM,” I screamed.
“Do you mind? I’m not done eating,” said she.
“Get going, or I’ll get my gun,” I threatened.
“Who are you kidding? You don’t have a gun,” she mocked.
I edged the car closer and closer. She looked right at me through the windshield.
“Don’t make me kick out your headlights.”
She plucked a final lily off its stem, licked her hooves clean, belched, and walked away with a Schwarzeneggerian look that said, “I’ll be back.”