Taking Aim

by Michael Cart

  Ron Koertge

  Donald watched his mate nibble at tall fescue. It was autumn, a beautiful time of the year. The August heat was gone and with it the flies and other pests. Winter was right around the corner but there was still plenty of food, room to roam and to gambol, really, if the mood struck.

  Things were almost perfect. Except for one thing.

  “Dixie, I’ve been thinking.”

  She raised her attractive head. Her large, soft ears wig-wagged. She said, “Oh, dear.”

  Donald frowned. “That was funny once. A long time ago.”

  “Sorry. What were you thinking?”

  “I feel, I don’t know, not like myself. Me, a sixteen-point buck. Me, who poses majestically on his own private crag. Me, whose picture is on every yellow ‘Watch for Deer’ sign—hooves tucked, head high, a ten from even the German judge.”

  “I know what it is, dear. Excuse me. Darling. I feel it, too. It’s hunting season.”

  Donald sighed. “I look at you grazing peacefully, and I think about tomorrow and men with guns and I hate it that I can’t protect you.”

  “I was talking to Donna down at the salt lick the other day and she said Derek is depressed, too. Plus they’re having trouble with their son Diego. He’s been darting across Route 22 every time he sees a pickup with a gun rack. Teasing the driver. Daring him. Exactly what we don’t need at this time of the year.”

  Donald shook his head. “Kids. I was that way once. Now when autumn rolls around, all I can think about is where to hide, and it just pisses me off. We were born here. This is our home. Just because humans have rifles and a piece of paper that says they can shoot us doesn’t make this forest theirs. I’m tired of running, Dixie. I can hardly look at myself in a pool of still water.” He pawed at the ground fiercely. “Running scared. What kind of a way to live is that?”

  “There were some close calls last year. Deborah still has a scar on her flank and we know what happened to Dudley.”

  “Strapped to the fender of a Ford F-150. Don’t remind me.”

  Donald looked around. An owl sat atop a tall pine. Two skunks ambled past. A dozen rabbits nibbled and ogled one another.

  “Look at those dumb bunnies,” Donald said. “Not a care in the world. Nothing to do but race around pointlessly, poop, and go at it like . . . well, like rabbits. No hunter ever talks about how he stalked a bunny for hours until he got a clear shot.”

  Donald nuzzled his mate. He put his head across her slender neck and she leaned into him.

  “If anything happened to you,” she said, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Donald stopped mid-nuzzle. His eyes narrowed. “You know what? We should hire a bodyguard.”

  Dixie stepped away so she could look directly at him. “A bodyguard. When you say things like that, it makes me want to put my hoof to your forehead and check for a raging fever. You are clearly delirious.”

  “Just hear me out. What do you fight fire with? With fire, that’s what. In this case, firepower.”

  Dixie looked at her handsome mate dubiously. “A human bodyguard.”

  “Well, yes. Our forest friends, nice as they are, are woefully lacking the requisite trigger finger.”

  “Not raccoons.”

  They paused to consider that—a raccoon. All sixteen pounds of him. Standing on his hind legs. With a pistol.

  Dixie started to laugh first. “The mask,” she sputtered.

  “Exactly! It’s too perfect.”

  They let the hilarity wind down before Dixie said, “Not that I agree with you, but since an armed, medium-sized mammal isn’t the answer, how would we go about hiring a bodyguard?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Remember when the campgrounds were fully funded and we used to wander down and give tourists a thrill?”

  “I do,” said Dixie. “It was all, ‘There’s Bambi!’ I loved that.”

  “Then we’d bound away followed by the flash of iPhones only to circle around so we could lie in the underbrush and watch their TVs.”

  “That was fun. We spent our second anniversary at Silver Lake Campground.”

  “Exactly. And what was all the news about on Channel 13?”

  “Celebrity rehab?”

  “Hard news, Dixie.”

  “You tell me.”

  “Unemployment,” said Donald. “And the widespread economic and social effects thereof.”

  Dixie leaned to nibble. She chewed thoughtfully. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

  “Hundreds of people out of work. Thousands.” He raised one hoof and scratched himself. “But how would we pay him? It’s all humans care about.”

  Dixie said, “I know where there’s some money.”

  “You clever doe. Where?”

  “At those cabins up past the lake, the ones the forest service used to rent. They’re all deserted now. Deborah and I were up there a week or so ago. You know how bears are when it comes to cold pizza. Half the cabins had their doors torn off. And Deborah is such a snoop. But guess what she found nosing around in a cigar box right next to some disgusting playing cards—a roll of bills.”

  Donald looked very interested. “How much?”

  “A lot. I know I saw fifties and twenties.”

  “That’s perfect. Do you think the money is still there?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Let’s bound up there and see. If it is, we’ll take the cash and tonight we’ll make our way down to the outskirts of Stink City and scout out those double-wides. There’s always some poor guy sitting out back with a cold six-pack.”

  “Should we tell any of the other deer?”

  Donald shook his head. “Not yet. We’re hiring a bodyguard, not an army.”

  That evening Donald and Dixie made their way toward Stink City, the derisive name all the animals used for the small town at the foot of the mountain. They waited at the two-lane blacktop until they could cross safely, then—using some silent oil rigs and the chassis of abandoned cars for cover—they headed for the nearest Waverlee trailers.

  The first one sat unevenly on cinder blocks. They skirted the dark backyard and made their way around to the front where windows were either missing or were mere aluminum frames with no glass. Flimsy curtains stirred in the breeze. A piece of paper fluttered from the front door. On it, in large letters, one word: FORECLOSURE.

  Silently they moved on. Two hundred yards away a figure sat in a low beach chair, an Igloo cooler by his side, a paperback book facedown in the dirt.

  “He smells,” said Dixie.

  “They all smell. But he’s not armed.”

  “He kind of looks like a bear.”

  “He’s not a bear. He’s just hairy. C’mon.”

  They moved closer. Even closer. The man wore cutoff jeans and a faded tank top with three words on it—I’M WITH STUPID.

  Donald cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said.

  The man looked. Blinked. Looked away. Looked again. Muttered, “Holy crap!” He tried to get up. Fell back. Tried again. Failed again.

  Donald began. “We were wondering—”

  The man made a guttural sound; he slammed the lid of the cooler and thrust the whole thing away from him. “That’s it,” he muttered.

  “Are you all right?” asked Dixie.

  “No. Hell, no. I’m not all right. I’m delirious or something.”

  Donald asked, “If this isn’t a good time, we could come back—”

  “Hey, now. No. There’s no good time to be talkin’ to a wild animal out in my own backyard.”

  “My name is Donald. And this is my mate, Dixie.”

  The man took a long drink of beer. “Okay. Sure. This here is absolutely the delirious part. Not just talkin’ animals, but talkin’ animals with names.”

  “We’ve always talked,” said Donald. “Just not to humans.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “So why start now?”

  “We have a proposition for you,” said Don
ald.

  “All right. Fine. I’m gonna wake up in the morning and tell my wife about the crazy dream I had, so let’s just go all the way with it. What kind of proposition are we talkin’ about?”

  “It’s actually quite simple. We want you to guard us when hunting season opens tomorrow. I’m assuming, of course, you have a rifle?”

  The man nodded. “More than one. And what exactly would I be guarding you all from?”

  “You, in a way. Humans. Hunters.”

  The deer could almost see the man’s mind work. Then he exclaimed, “Oh, hell, no. I’m no murderer. What kind of leaves have you two been chewin’?”

  Dixie pointed out, “But you murder us.”

  He shook his head violently. “That’s different. That’s hunting. That’s sportsmanship and animal management and, okay, I admit it, lots of fun, too. What you’re asking me to do is a whole other—”

  Donald moved a little closer. “We don’t want you to harm anybody. All we want you to do is frighten them. Drive them away so they won’t come back.”

  The man stirred and the aluminum chair groaned and swayed. “Oh. Well. Now we’re talking about security work.”

  “We could call it that.”

  His eyes narrowed again. He licked his chapped lips. “For how much?”

  Dixie leaned and spat out the wad of bills she’d secreted in her cheek. Daintily, using her right hoof, she separated the fives from the tens and twenties. “Sorry about the dampness, but—”

  He eyed the money greedily. “Not a problem.” He picked up a fifty-dollar bill. “For one day’s work, right?”

  “Let’s see how it goes,” Donald said. “And as for tomorrow—half now. Half after.”

  Dixie leaned and, with one flick of her tongue, took back some of the money.

  The man tucked damp bills into his pocket. “‘Let’s see how it goes.’ That’s fair.” He extended his right hand. “I’m Randy.”

  Donald lifted his hoof. He hesitated. So did Randy, who finally drew his hand back and said, “That’s just too weird.”

  Donald nodded. “But we will see you in the morning. Take the old forest service road that leads to the falls. Wait by the big rock. We’ll find you. Come before dawn! That’s important. And don’t tell anybody.”

  Randy smirked. “Are you kidding? Who’d believe me if I did?”

  Early next morning, Donald and Dixie spotted their bodyguard making his way on foot up the dirt road. He was in full-on hunting regalia—camo everything, including his hat and boots.

  “Are you alone?” asked Donald.

  “What’s it look like?” Randy rubbed at his beard.

  “Do you have a bandanna?”

  “I might. What for?”

  Dixie asked, “Would you be so kind as to blindfold yourself? The forest has its secrets, and we want to keep it that way.”

  Even as he complied, Randy muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this. If I’d-a just stayed in the service—three hots and a cot, money in the bank, people salutin’ me all day—”

  “Ready?” asked Donald.

  “Sure. Let’s go if we’re goin’.”

  The deer led Randy into the woods. Nudging him left and right, warning him about fallen trees or low-hanging branches.

  “So clumsy,” Dixie whispered. “He couldn’t jump over a chipmunk without falling on his fat face.”

  “Humans,” Donald mused. “Clumsy, cruel, and a long life span. It isn’t fair.”

  Thirty minutes later, when they were sure Randy was disoriented, they led him into a clearing where the other animals waited—dozing, nibbling, gossiping.

  But all that stopped when Dixie, Donald, and Randy burst into their midst.

  “RUN!!”

  Dixie darted forward. “No, no, no. It’s fine. He’s not going to hurt any of you. He’s with us. He’s our bodyguard.”

  Bancroft Bear looked out from behind a tree. Wolf and Fox peeked out from behind Bancroft. Raccoons and rabbits froze.

  “Are you crazy?” asked Bob Cat.

  “It’s an experiment,” said Donald. “No running for Dixie and me. No hiding. If this is successful, there are a lot of unemployed hunters in Stink City. Every one of you could have his own bodyguard! There’s a lot of bad guys with guns; we’ll have good guys with guns.”

  “Wait’ll you take that blindfold off,” ventured Serena Skunk. “Then we’ll see how good a guy he is.”

  Randy spoke up. “Wait just a damn minute. I’ve been out of work for longer than I want to think about. I contracted to do the strangest job anybody ever heard of for X number of dollars, and that’s what I’ll do. I got integrity. I don’t give a crap about you all. Just boogie on outta here for all I care. Then I’ll get on with what I was hired to do, which is to intercept and engage the enemy, and drive him back to the extraction point.”

  Bancroft rumbled, “Come again?”

  “Shoot at the sons of bitches till they run back to their trucks.”

  “What about the day after tomorrow?” asked Octavius Owl. “Won’t they return? Humans don’t take insults and humiliation lightly.”

  Randy turned in Octavius’s direction. “They might,” he admitted, “but they might not. Lots of places to hunt around here. Why come back someplace they was shot at?”

  The animals exchanged troubled glances.

  “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am out of here,” said Fox. “They don’t call me ‘wily’ for nothing.”

  “Coyotes are wily,” said Walter Wolf. “Foxes are crazy. But not crazy enough to be part of this. Thank Nature I’m a lone wolf. It takes two to hatch a nutball scheme like this.”

  “Let’s just everybody settle down and leave Randy alone to do his job,” said Donald.

  The animals—all but the two deer—scattered, disappeared with barely a trace. They might have melted into the landscape. The clearing fell silent.

  Donald whispered, “I hope this was a good idea.”

  “Too late now,” replied Dixie. And then to Randy, “We’ll be nearby.”

  He fumbled with his blindfold, blinked, looked around. Raised his weapon. “Just stay behind me!”

  They followed their bodyguard from a distance. They heard the hunters before he did, and froze before he lifted his hand. They watched him lie behind a fallen log and half cover himself with leaves. They watched him wait until men appeared, walking four abreast. They listened to the sharp report of Randy’s weapon, and they heard the sound of heavy bodies ducking for cover.

  “Hey! What the hell? How much hunter orange do we have to wear?”

  Randy pulled off another four rounds.

  “Hey, man. What’s your problem?”

  More rounds, which elicited more scrambling, more swearing, followed by running.

  “Look at them go!” said Donald. “Now they know what it feels like!”

  “What a wonderful sight,” said Dixie. “I never thought I’d live to see the day—”

  “This isn’t over, you crazy bastard,” one of the men shouted. “You don’t know who you’re messin’ with!”

  Randy waited. Dixie and Donald waited, their ears up. Finally, nothing. Not a sound. The forest always got that way after gunshots.

  Randy stood up. “That’s that then.” He reloaded as he walked back toward the deer. Donald stepped in front of his mate.

  Randy laughed as he slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you still owe me money. But I’ll tell you what I think for free. Those boys might be back, after all, and if I’m right, me and my friends should be here.” He eyed the deer greedily. “Have you all got any more cash?” Casually he let his rifle point in their direction.

  Donald gave Dixie an almost imperceptible nod as he shouted, “What’s that!?”

  As Randy turned, the deer bounded away. If their bodyguard lifted his Remington 700, they didn’t see it.

  Just before dusk, Donald and Dixie met the other animals again. They hung their heads.

/>   “Lie down with humans, get up with fleas,” said Walter. “I hope you know that given the opportunity he would have shot you. And you put us all in jeopardy.”

  “I said it was an experiment,” replied Donald without conviction.

  “An experiment in fraternizing with the enemy,” muttered Serena.

  Donald snapped, “We were thinking survival. Nobody wants your little black-and-white head on his wall.”

  “Hey, just because I’m small, you think my life is worth less than yours? Thanks a lot, you size-ist ninny.”

  Vincent Vole stepped forward. “Paraphrasing the great Josiah Wedgewood, ‘Am I not an animal and a brother?’ And to paraphrase the even greater William Shakespeare, ‘If you shoot me, do I not bleed?’”

  Dixie looked at her mate. “Vincent’s right. We didn’t think things through.”

  Serena asked, “How could you stand to get within a hundred yards of that so-called bodyguard? Sweat, tobacco, beer, and what is that concoction they splash on themselves?”

  “Aftershave,” said Vincent.

  “How do they ever manage to mate? Does the female hold her nose?”

  The animals paused and pictured that. Soon the titters began and those grew into howls and roars. Octavius Owl spit up a pellet he laughed so hard.

  When things settled down, Donald vowed, “Believe me. It’ll never happen again.”

  Vincent spoke up. “Perhaps this experience will serve as a reminder of our natural superiority. We kill to live, never for amusement, malice, or sport. We respect one another. We allow for differences.”

  Dixie looked thoughtful. “Randy might say he kills to live, also. To put, if you’ll pardon the expression, meat on the table.”

  “How can you defend him?” asked Bancroft. “He’d shoot you in a heartbeat.”

  “If I would stand still long enough, which I wouldn’t. I haven’t lived five whole years by being careless. And, anyway, I was brought up to see both sides of any situation.”

  Octavius observed, “Well, you’re about to see my backside because I am going north for a while.”

  Many of the animals nodded. Bancroft ambled for a dozen yards, then turned and looked back.

  “You go on,” said Dixie. “We have some business to take care of.”

  Donald looked surprised. “What business is that?”