Oh deer...feeling bambivalent about Brad's wall mount

 I count myself as fortunate to have made it thirty years without an animal mount in my house. Brad and I both love and appreciate animals. I am a hunter's wife who has a pragmatic understanding about the benefits of culling the deer population. My husband's past-time fills our freezer and has fed our family for three decades. Brad is married to a woman who bursts into tears when she accidentally hits a rabbit with the car. Who hasn't been able to stomach veal since learning what "veal" is. Who can't eat freshly-caught fish until it's been frozen overnight. We walk a fine balance in our household. Who knew that it would take a twelve pound dachshund to tip the scale?

I've been in denial since November. Brad had shot a magnificent buck and it would be joining our little family in March. March? Why...that's MONTHS away. Then I got the call...yesterday. But it's only February. I still have time. Who gets orders done AHEAD of schedule? No pun intended, by the way.

Brad knew exactly where he wanted to display our new friend. The dining room. I began mapping out alternate routes in my house so I would never have to set foot in that room again. Unfortunately, Brad didn't factor in the close proximity to the stairs and our little dog, Chloe's, willingness to launch herself at her target despite the six foot drop. She would not be deterred or distracted.  Whining. Whimpering. Snarling. Growling. She was ready to take this deer down a second time. I just wanted to take the deer DOWN. "We're going to have to move it somewhere else," Brad said sadly. My heart soared with hope. Garage? Basement? Attic? Alaska? "Maybe the living room?" Brad suggested. My spirits sagged.

I was so pleased when he decided to wait until I got home so I could help with the hanging process.

"For pete's sake, Amy. All I asked you to do was mark the wall with a pen," Brad remarked scornfully.

I concentrated ALL my energies into keeping Prancer OUT of my living room. The dining room, it turns out, was my best option of the ground floor rooms. "If it were placed by the pellet stove, it would look sort of log cabin-y," I pointed out. The pellet stove it was! Except now, when I go to toast my buns, I will have a velvety nose peering over my shoulder. Chlo climbed up onto the chair with her daddy as he positioned the mount. I rescued her as she attempted to use the pellet stove as a ladder to get closer to her quarry.

It's like we've hung a painting on our wall. A masterpiece. Chlo is riveted. She stares at it for hours until driven to her food and water bowls for sustenance. Each time she enters the room, her little neck immediately tilts toward the trophy. Her relentless scrutiny and adamant refusal to release her prey is impressive. Maybe I still have hope. Stranger things have happened. I wouldn't doubt for an instant that my dachshund could parkour the living daylights out of this little problem. "Go ahead, Chlo," I coaxed, "I deer ya."