We Live in a Zoo

Sometimes I feel like we live in a zoo.

All we have to do is look out our windows to get that feeling.

If there isn’t a herd of deer meandering through our yard, there’s a flock of wild turkeys.

The turkeys strut across our yard as if it’s theirs, but they’re harmless so we just watch and take pictures.

The only thing that chases the deer away is a slamming door and a harried housewife shaking a broom and running in their direction screeching, “Get  out of here!”

We’re not  fond of the deer because they like to chew on our evergreens in the winter and our hostas in the summer.  They’ve got 3,500 acres of the Carver Park Reserve in which to roam and graze and nibble to infinite delight, but that’s not enough for the greedy things.

And then there is the lone snapping turtle.

He crawls up into our yard from Schutz Lake, inexplicably away from the safety of brush and trees.

He prefers the clearing in our yard which is only a few feet away from our living room window.

And then he begins to lay eggs  — from now on I’ll call him a she — maybe 50 eggs or so.

She makes a muddy mess — after all, we’ve had a lot of rain — but it’s not a huge mess,

and it’s all for the sake of new life so we remain rather intrigued by the event.

The next morning, however, broken egg shells are scattered all over the place.

Somebody found them delicious, probably a raccoon.

We’re not sure if it’s the same bunch of turkeys that show up in our yard every other day.

It’s fun to catch a male fanning out his tail feathers.

And then he begins chasing his lady friends into a private suite beyond our gaze.

The female turkeys are drab and resemble those naked chickens that hang by their feet in Chinatown.

As I said, sometimes I feel like we live in a zoo.

Love, Sue