Humor

My Complicated Relationship With Bambi

I’m not saying I’d eat Bambi, but… No, that’s exactly what I’m saying.

Photo by Benjamin Raffetseder on Unsplash

I have a complicated relationship with deer.

I grew up on a farm, it’s not like I’m some left-leaning Commie vegan. If it lived on the farm and had more than two legs, it was probably at some point going to be dinner.

I just remembered that chickens and turkeys usually have two legs. Okay, everything with a heartbeat was going to be dinner.

My mom loved to tell the story of how, when I was little, I asked if we were going to eat the dog (we did not eat the dog).

I imagine myself asking this question coldly. Clinically. Like a junior serial killer.

I loved to show my friends the pigs’ ears my mom laid out in the freezer between sheets of waxed paper. Why were they there? Unclear. Best not to ask.

I’ve eaten rattlesnake, alligator, frog, pigeon, rabbit, elk, and little baby octopi (I ate a ton of these in Italy, their little faces vacuum-sealed in the freezer section).

My dad took a squirrel away from the dog once and had my mom fry it up, but I chose not to partake, in solidarity with the dog.