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December 6th 2010    Tim Candler

    Deer hoof and slipper print in the perennial border this morning, which pretty much sums this time of year.  

    But best to remain chipper, otherwise black thoughts merge with fantastic ideas and the next thing you know you are up before the magistrate defending a position that is obscure and much frowned upon.

    "You Honor I was drunk and attempting to discourage Deer,"  does not figure in the handbook of excuses.  But perhaps, "Your Honor, I was outraged and had not shaved for a week,"  does.

     It is that sight of a face in the mirror through the clear vision that reading glasses provide.   That creature staring back cannot be me, it must be someone else.

    But Deer have good night vision and apparently are made curious by eyesore.  I suddenly got the terrible impression the Deer was encouraging me and I became quickly convinced someone on the far hill might be watching me.  But maybe it was only the Grey Cat from his porch, as I barked and chased, and the Deer pranced a little.  I could have touched her shoulder.  Several times.

   As well it was far too cold outside to be wearing the pink fluffy night dress for a goodnight cigarette.  Nor is exercise so close to bedtime good for bones.

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