POW!, POW!, POW!, POW!

This morning (Thursday, November 23, Thanksgiving Day) we took our dogs to the so-called elitist country-club for a walk. They love it — and were thrilled.
Lots of other people were there; all with dogs. — one guy with two big dogs, some with one dog each, and an entire family with a dog and two small kids.
Which shows what dogs think of the Thanksgiving-Day holiday:
“We don’t care what day it is. All we know is you’re here, and therefore you can take us to the park. Hup-hup!”
We were walking out atop the West Pond dam-dike when suddenly “POW!, POW!, POW!, POW!,” from the nearby woods.
Shotgun deer-season started last weekend. The park is awash in deer, since it’s off-limits — supposedly.
Here we are walking two brownish critters each about three feet high that can easily be mistaken for a deer by some beer-sodden hunter following in the footsteps of Dick Cheney.
“This is a park,” my wife said. “Hunters are not supposed to shoot within 500 feet.”
“POW!, POW!, POW!, POW!”
Every year the mighty Mezz ran a story about deer-slugs entering a house and embedding in the wall. “If I had been on the computer, it would have got me!”
Hunters have been known to shoot cows. “Sure looked like a deer.”
Every year there’s at least one local fatality.
After the dam we walk a wide trail that parallels the park-border; about 300 feet from it at first, then 50.
Two deer were scampering along the border — the park is fenced. “POW!, POW!, POW!, POW!”
Down a hill they went, and out across a meadow.
“POW!, POW!, POW!, POW!” (Extremely loud, and gunshots echo for hours.)
All rather frightening.
From what I can see, these are the bad apples. An ex-editor at the mighty Mezz who I think the world of used to hunt. “Out slaughtering Bambi?” I would say.
The all-powerful Tim Belknap hunts too — sort of an outdoorsman.
Fiddle-de-dee. So a bad apple shoots me dead. Little consequence, I suppose; especially if he’s REPUBLICAN.