A Rescued Deer
by Jason Earls, author of Red Zen & How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell http://becomeguitaristfromhell.blogspot.com/ http://www.youtube.com/user/zevi35711
A man stood in his backyard while another man crunched through red and yellow autumn leaves toward him. Both were in their mid 30s, wearing camouflage coveralls with black boots and green trucker caps. The walking man had a large pot belly and tree-trunk sized legs, while the standing man was rail thin with skinny bird legs. The day was overcast and freezing cold even though winter had not yet officially arrived. The temperature had dropped from 55 to 30 degrees in only two hours – an Arctic air mass had moved in. “Hey Reese,” the overweight man said, stopping in front of the slender man. “Hello, Brian.” Reese didn’t like small talk very much, but once you got him wound up on a story, he would relax and his words would flow abundantly. “You got any deer yet this year?” Brian said. “Yeah. Three of them.” “Jeez, you’re doing pretty good. I thought I was doing great to get two deer so far. It’s still not even officially winter yet, ya know?” “Yeah, I know. The deer I got are small though. It’s only been an average hunting year for me so far.” A sharp screeching noise, similar to a distorted siren, could be heard off in the distance. Brian jerked his head back and looked over his shoulder while Reese stayed perfectly calm and didn’t move a muscle. Brian continued searching around until he noticed Reese’s dog – a tiny black rat terrier with one gray swirl encircling its left eye – staring out at Brian through the window of the storm door on Reese’s back porch. “What was that noise?” Brian said. “Was it your dog barking?” “What do you mean,” Reese said. “What noise?” “Didn’t you hear that strange noise just now? I think it was your dog barking in the house.” “It don’t bark.” Brian squinted. “What do you mean it don’t bark, Reese? Every dog barks.” “Not that one. I’ve only heard that dog bark one time ever since I’ve had him.” “That’s crazy. Owning a dog that doesn’t bark.”
“It’s true though, that little rat terrier has only barked one single time in its life that me and my wife know of. It’s a freak dog.” “Why do you keep calling him ‘it,’ Reese? The dog is a male, right?” “Yeah.” “Hmm... one bark, huh? He must have barked that time, heard his voice and didn’t like the sound of it, so he just stopped.” “I guess so,” Reese said. They both stood there in the back yard for awhile. The wind was blowing harder now. They seemed to be listening to the harsh Arctic wind whipping violently out of the north. “Brrr, it’s freezing cold out here,” Brian said. “Feels like the air is penetrating right through my coveralls deep into my bones.” “It’s that damned Arctic air mass,” Reese said. “My wife is sicker than hell right now. Ya know, Mother Nature can wipe your ass out in a Las Vegas second if you’re not careful.” “You got that right. I hope it gets a little warmer tomorrow at least. I still need to go out and get me a good deer with a lot of points... Hey, by the way, Reese. How many points can a deer have anyway?” “Over a hundred.” “No way.” “Yep, it just depends on the type of deer and the location. I’ve read about some freak deers that have over a hundred points, but their racks don’t look normal.” “No kidding.” “Yeah, a buddy of mine, Roger, he almost got him a hundred point deer once.” “Really. You’re shittin’ me.” “Nope, he was driving out in the country a couple years ago... He drove over Rancier’s bridge and before he crossed the midway point he saw a big buck run and jump over the side. He drove closer and noticed a rope going over where the buck had jumped off. Roger stopped his truck, got out, looked over the edge and saw a rope lassoed around the buck’s horns, the rope all tangled up in its huge rack with over a hundred points. The deer was suspended there in mid-air, hanging at least fifty feet above the dried-up river bed, it was making snorting noises and flopping around and just suffering there, ya know? So my buddy Roger, he’s a big ole boy, about six feet four and over 270, he grabbed the rope and strained and pulled the deer back over the side to safety. He untangled the rope and got him loose and that buck didn’t struggle against him at all, wasn’t even afraid of him, it just lay there on the ground as Roger took out his hunting knife and cut him loose. The buck was probably in shock at that point from dangling off the side of that bridge. Roger said he just stood there, leering down at that incredible hundred point rack, almost drooling, wanting to take it home with him to mount. But the buck was acting so calm, shaking lightly but acting real gentle. I guess it was relieved to be rescued, so Roger let the buck rest there
for awhile. Then after the deer regrouped, it got up and ran off into the woods.” “Wow,” Brian said. “A real hundred point buck. Right around here.” “Yeah. And you know what else, Brian. To this day Roger can go out into the woods near Rancier’s bridge where he rescued that buck, and he can call that big deer out to him anytime he wants. That beautiful hundred point buck will just run right out to him, come up and sniff Roger’s hand, and he can feed that deer right out of his palm, or just pet him if he wants to. Roger says he’s always tempted to take home that hundred point rack for mounting, but when he sees how tame that animal acts toward him, almost like he loves Roger, he just can’t bring himself to do it...” Brian stayed silent for a few seconds. “Hmmm...” Reese didn’t like the sound of that ‘hmmm.’ He looked at Brian. He saw doubt on his friend’s face. “What does that mean?” Reese said. “What.” “That ‘hmmm’ sound you made.” “Oh, I don’t know, Reese. The last part just seems a little too good to be true to me.” “How do ya mean?” “A man calling out a deer anytime he wants. I mean, it’s great that the guy saved the buck and all, and it seems like a real miracle that a buck around here could have a hundred point rack, but come on man, a human can’t go out in the woods and call a deer to him whenever he wants. Deer aren’t so smart they can remember a certain person and recognize his voice, and then be so naturally tame they’ll just run out to a guy whenever he happens to show up. I don’t know, I just can’t swallow that last part.” Reese’s face was turning red. “So, you’re calling me a liar then...” “No, no... Come on man. It’s only that your friend Roger has been feeding you some crappola. You don’t actually believe he can call that buck out anytime he wants to, do you?” “Yes, I believe it. I saw him do it.” “What? You mean you actually saw this hundred point buck in real life?” “Of course I did. He took me out to Rancier’s bridge and called him out. I saw Roger hand feed that buck right in front of my face.” “Did its rack look freakish? I mean to have so many points?” “Yeah, it’s rack was shaped a little weird. Big deal.” “Nah... No way,” Brian said, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe it. Wild deer can’t be tamed that easy. And they aren’t intelligent enough to recognize certain people’s voices. It just can’t be
true. I’m sorry, Reese.” “Yeah, you are a sorry person, Brian, because you’re standing here calling me a liar...” “No, I’m not calling you a liar, Reese. There’s just some exaggeration goin’ on from somebody, that’s all.” Reese stepped closer to Brian. His face was redder now and he was scowling. “I want you to know something, Brian Redford. Everything I tell you, every word out of my mouth, is always absolutely true in every frickin’ way. I never lie. Especially to my friends. You got that? You better remember it, you douchebag.” “Now hold on, Reese,” Brian said, stepping back, holding his hands out in front of him. But it was too late. Reese lunged forward and punched Brian in the mouth. Reese’s middle knuckle crunched against Brian’s two front teeth and one of them went flying. Brian grunted loudly and fell down in the leaves. Reese turned and walked through the yard, his arms held out to his sides, sort of strut-walking up to his back door. He didn’t even look back at his friend, who was still lying on the ice cold ground as Reese entered the house. Brian lay there, not moving, the freezing Arctic air mass encircling his unconscious body. And at the window of the storm door, still on the back porch, stood Reese’s little black rat terrier with the gray swirl surrounding its left eye. The dog stared out into the back yard for a long time, Brian still laying in the leaves not moving, until finally the little dog released a high-pitched, screeching bark that echoed loudly throughout the neighborhood... -end(Thanks for reading. If you have any comments, or know of any magazines that would like to publish this story, please contact the author: zevi_35711@yahoo.com. Also, you would be helping out the author greatly if you purchased one of his books from Amazon.com or another online book store of your choice. Thanks again.) http://www.youtube.com/user/zevi35711 http://becomeguitaristfromhell.blogspot.com/ http://zombiesofthereddescent.blogspot.com/ Bio: Jason Earls is the author of Cocoon of Terror (Afterbirth Books), Heartless Bastard In Ecstasy, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Zombies of the Red Descent, If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); }, Red Zen, and 0.136101521283655... all available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Yankee Pot Roast, M-Brane SF, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover’s books, Mathworld.com, AlienSkin, Recreational and Educational Computing, Escaping Elsewhere, Neometropolis, Thirteen, Dogmatika, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG’s Speculative Fiction, Nocturnal Ooze, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens and other publications. He currently resides in Oklahoma with his wife, Christine.