Bucks
Deer Jokes
Dear Friends,
Good morning. I should say “deer friends” because my topic today is the white tailed deer and three stories about them. One of my friends knows a neighbor who shoots deer with a paint ball machine gun. No deer perishes but the herd on his fenced, 12-acre property is techno colored.
Farmers and suburbanites in southeast Pennsylvania tell us that the deer population is out of control. On the other hand, hunters claim that there are not enough deer around and fight any attempt to cull the population.
In my deer file, I have about 10
stories about this argument. Hunting in Pennsylvania is a $5 billion business.
Hunting fees; hunting equipment; and collision shops, which repair deer-struck
cars, account for these statistics. In Pennsylvania, 100,000 deer vehicle
accidents occur annually (1,000 in Lehigh County alone). Worse, 12 deaths were
reported, plus $200 million in property damage (Morning Call,
In Bucks County, 1,900 bucks and 4,400
doe were killed by hunters in 2004, the most recent year of statistics that I
have (Morning Call,
With this as background, let me turn to the first deer story.
Several weeks ago, one of my friends told me about his pal who lives on a palatial 22-acre estate in Haverford, on the Main Line. His hobby is paintball warfare in the Pocono Mountains. Players don helmets, goggles, and protective clothing; form into teams and shoot each other.
Doesn’t that sound like glorious fun?
This warrior decided to teach the deer herd that wanders around his property a lesson or two. But he made the mistake of installing deer fencing before he was certain that the resident deer had been chased away. Alas, the deer are permanent prisoners. Now, they are everywhere, munching on his petunias; nibbling in his garden; and stomping on his driveway.
The deer must be making quite a racket.
Our new hero has a machine gun that fires multiple bursts of paintball bullets. They don’t kill but they startle. And they leave multicolor hits on the deer…black, white, yellow, fluorescent orange, and fluorescent red. Some of the deer now resemble an artist’s pallet.
My friend told me that observing that herd must be like watching a moveable painting. He also noted that this warrior often misses and consequently sprays other flora and fauna. So the plants, trees, skunks, porcupines, ground hogs and rabbits are brightly colored as well…probably the outbuildings too.
I wonder what the deer must be thinking when they spot another deer? My friend says that the herd is multi hued. And after a rain, the colors blend. His property must be quite a sight.
“It’s not all bad,” he quips.
That story begat another.
Another friend is an active hunter. Thirty years ago, when his two children were infants, he went on his annual buck-hunting safari with other friends. Successful, he bagged a large buck. The problem was that he was driving a very small roadster. How would he get the buck home the next day?
Instead of tying the buck to the roof of his car, his fellow hunters crammed the buck into the back and front seat. Can you picture this scene? The deer’s torso fills the back seat and the antlered head occupies the passenger seat. The only thing I would have suggested was to have the antlered head sticking out of the front window. Now that would have captured motorists’ attention.
After a night of revelry, the hunters departed from their campsite and went their separate ways. Alas, our great hunter forgot about rigor mortis. When he arrived home, he was greeted by his little children who were very upset with him.
“Daddy killed Bambi,” one cried!
Worse, Bambi wouldn’t budge from the roadster. My friend wondered whether a chain saw would solve the problem? His children were furious…so was his wife.
Reason finally struck like a bolt of lightening.
He drove his roadster to the local butcher who disassembled the deer and created steaks. My friend told the children that they were moose tenderloins. And he promptly traded the roadster for a larger car.
I’ll close this column with one of my favorite deer hunting stories. One Pennsylvania German and a Welsh American were hunting in the Pocono’s. (I always tell ethnic jokes on my own heritage.) They shot a buck and tried dragging it out of the woods feet first.
The going was painfully slow because the antlers kept catching on the brush. Several other hunters stopped them and gave sound advice. “Drag it by the antlers,” they suggested.
About an hour later, Charlie told his friend, “Jake, those guys were right. It’s easier dragging this deer by the antlers, head first.”
“True, Charlie,” Jake replied, “but we’re two miles further into the forest than we were an hour ago.”
Mighty Betsy warned me that these stories would cause instant rebellion. But I just couldn’t resist.
Sincerely,
Charles Meredith