I have never been a fan of hunting. Not that I'm an actual fan now, but I've gone from thinking it's a mean, despicable, unnecessary hobby to almost being willing to take up arms in effort to thin the herds of filthy, tick carrying, poop dropping rats with hooves.
But I can't even manage to secure scissors in my home. There's no way I could trust a gun safe with my maniacs around. Plus, hunting season starts on Cyber Monday, and I'm not missing that. And I hate the cold. And neon orange is not my color. And I doubt I could bring myself to touch a dead deer.
So, as I sat here surfing the internet, two loud shots rang out. I don't usually hear the hunters. Hunting not permitted in our development, and they usually go pretty deep into the game lands we border.
We do, however, have a lot of wack jobs around here. The SWAT team was behind my house a few weeks ago. We've had a string of burglaries. There was a suicide a few months ago. The convenience store down the road (conveniently located next to a gun shop) was robbed (again) last week. And I know where the drug dealers live. Some of them, at least.
Welcome to the country! To think, I used to dream about living in NYC.
So, as I sit here contemplating the gun shots I heard a few minutes ago, I hope Bambi is dead. But now I'll be tracking the news sites to be sure. I miss NJ.
The Boarding House by The Pioneer Woman
1 day ago