Urggh! Those dreaded deer! One local plots revenge.

By Helen Armstrong

Someone left the gate open last night. As I surveyed the damage in my garden caused by rampaging deer galumphing through the hedges, my blood was well and truly up. Not again! I mentally ran through the damage those creatures had done to my garden over the years. Smashed lavender bushes, ring-barked gum trees, crushed roses, broken branches everywhere. And now again! I stormed inside.

"Right! That's it!" I raged.

"What are you doing?" asked my other half.

"Looking for venison recipes! Those blasted deer are in for it, next time they set foot on our property!"

"Found anything?" he asked mildly.

"There's larded saddle of venison with juniper berries ... where are we going to get juniper berries?"

"I think there's some at the back of the pantry ... but think about it first. First catch your deer. How are you planning to do the deed?"

"With my bare hands!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Now let's be reasonable. You're not exactly skinny, but even a small doe would outweigh you. I can see it now, the deer headed back to the Park with you flapping along behind, uselessly attached to its neck. I don't think so. Besides, they're protected."

"Not once they set foot outside the Park, they're not. It's like Galahs and Sulphur-crested Cockatoos. They're a pest to farmers, used to be only protected inside national parks. Well, for me the deer is a pest species. They're not protected in the town."

He sat down and looked at me thoughtfully, while I continued to rummage through recipe books. "Now calm down. Let's consider the options."

I began to resent his easy-going appraisal. Men! Rational bastards!

"I'll shoot the beasts!"

"You? You hate guns! Besides,"and he ticked off his fingers, "we haven't any guns, you're not licensed, you're not allowed to discharge firearms in a public place."

"Traditionally, deer-hunters used bow and arrows. How about archery?"

"You'd need to practice a lot first," he commented sardonically. "You can't even bowl at cricket."

"I could learn."

He chuckled, maddeningly. "A deer has to be killed with one shot. You can't allow a wounded deer to get away, it's inhumane."

"What about what the brutes did to the garden? That's barbaric!"

"Well, anyway," he continued, "I suspect you can't fire arrows down the street either. Go on, ring the cops and check if you don't believe me. Bung on one of your funny voices. Of course, they'll still be able to track the call."

"No, I grumbled, "You're almost certainly right. I know knives aren't allowed to be carried, so there goes the grab-and-slash method too."

"Besides which, I suspect the RSPCA might have something to say about it."

"What about a pit trap?" I begged wildly. "After all, the driveway is still all sand after the sewerage workers dug it up for the pipes."

He roared laughing. "I can see it now - the police sending out search parties for missing Water Board workers, door-to-door preachers and Avon Ladies. Not to mention Aunt Flo."

"Aunt Flo?"

"I said not to mention her! No, a pit trap, especially one lined with sharpened stakes, which I suspect you have in mind, will push our insurance premiums up and could well result in lawsuits from survivors and their families. Besides, how would you get a deer carcass out of the pit trap? They're heavy."

"I could butcher it down there, I know enough mammalian anatomy..."

"You'd be awash in mammalian anatomy. And all for what? One deer? There are hundreds out there, reproducing faster than we could eat them."

I sighed with exasperation. "Anyway, you've already pointed out that even a pit trap on our own property would be illegal."

Let's recap," he said, leaning forward, ticking off fingers again. "We can't go hunting them in the National Park - they're protected there. We can't discharge (or even carry) a weapon in a public place or in a way that could endanger anybody, besides which we're not in possession of or licensed for any projectile weapon. Knives are banned in public, and in private the RSPCA would object to anything that could possibly be inhumane."

"Leaves us with no alternative, then," I commented bitterly.

"There is one legal way," and his eyes lit up. "Yes - it's been done before, it could be done again. But I warn you - it's not easy!"

"What, what?" I asked.

"Hit one with the car. It happens all the time. Of course, we'll lose our no-claim bonus and the repair excess will be steep. And unless you're uninjured and can butcher the meat fast, it will be the most expensive venison you've never tasted."

I walked out to the garage and looked at the car, visualising the incredible damage hitting a deer could do. After a few minutes I walked back inside. My other half was getting his gardening gloves on, ready to repair the broken shrubbery.

"Well? Have you decided how you're going to bag your deer?"

"Don't be ridiculous! They're beautiful creatures! How could you think I would want to hurt one of them?"

I hastily slammed shut the recipe books then went to the pantry and threw out the juniper berries. They were old, anyway.