Mr. and Mrs. Deer were leisurely parked outside my gate last night, when I got home. In fact, Mrs. Deer was looking positively radiant in her minimal make-up, batting her eye-lids, bearing just a hint of mascara. She was waiting for Mr. Deer, busy polishing his antlers with that special oil he is known to use, taking his sweet time despite dinner time approaching fast. Mrs. Deer did not want to miss her nightly reservation. Finally, Mr. Deer made his appearance, elegantly swooping in from the hillside, poised to reach out to Mrs. Deer, sprint towards my fence and make their way towards my rose bushes.
I slowed down, mesmerized by their beauty and their grace, knowing that the headlights would soon give my presence away and delay Mr. and Mrs. Deer’s dinner plans. And so it was.
My 8 year-long battle to keep the roses blooming through the Spring was lost a long time ago. My inept inner gardener loved to cut the multi-hued roses the previous owners had (stupidly) planted and cherished. Their plan to keep the wildlife at bay resorted to an electrified fence I promptly disconnected as soon as my (RIP) Rottweiler got mildly electrocuted. For a short time, I tried web and neighbours’ inspired remedies as extravagant as sprinkling baking soda or laying small bowls of beer around the roots. Nothing worked. And that is how my exotic roses became the equivalent of a French Laundry meal for the resident deer.
A few days ago, I learnt of a couple who traded their Venice house for a pool accessorized abode in my neighbourhood. Six months into their “idyllic” residence, they spotted a rattlesnake in the backyard, where their toddler was playing – after calling pests’ removal companies and being told there was no way to abate rattlesnakes (no shit Sherlock – how would that work exactly?), they decided to move.
I am always amazed at the amount of city folks (and I was one the most urban of them all) who move to the canyons and expect to lead the same life as if they lived on the Santa Monica Promenade (“oh, I have to drive such a distance to get food – nobody will deliver”). At least, I did my research beforehand and made peace with the snakes, the deer, the coyotes, the tarantulas and the mountain lions whose habitat I trespass on (not to mention the landslides and the wildfires – as if earthquakes were not enough).
The gift I get in return is Mr. and Mrs. Deer welcoming me home at night, clearly unafraid of me – by now, they know I am running a rose special outside my garage.