Oh, deer!

I bow my head and graze on succulent blades of green grass, surrounded by members of my herd. There’s a boat parked in the driveway near the front yard where we eat. It’s almost summer.

A passing car slows down. Through an open window, a hand, clasping a rectangular object, thrusts toward us. Did the hand’s owner just say, “Love these island deer, they are so chill”?