Allow me to first set the record straight. Although I am acutely aware of the need to recycle, our responsibility as stewards of the earth, and the aesthetic value of a clean environment, I am NOT an over-the-top eco-vigilante.
Now, I may not be, but that is not so much the case with at least one of our farm inhabitants.
You see, yesterday morning, in the early predawn hours as I finished loading my vehicle for the weekly trip to the farmer's market, I absent-mindedly set a case of bottled water onto the running board of our 1947 Chevy farm truck. "No harm, no foul," I thought.
Au contraire!
For, as my tail lights disappeared around the curve of the driveway, a figure stalked out of the shadows to right a grievous wrong. Seymour, it turns out, abhors cases of water bottles. They are evil, it seems, and I didn't know it. He, being such an insightful guardian, was ever-watchful--protecting us from the potential hazards of an all-out plastic attack.
So, with antlers in place, he proceeded to destroy the suspect plastic and cardboard packaging, scattering the individual bottles far and wide over the front yard. Not meaning to merely wound--but to kill the invader in its tracks--Seymour went so far as to skewer several of the bottles and leave them lying to bleed their precious contents onto the ground. Upon my return home early in the afternoon, I was greeted by the sight of the ever-vigilant deer lying in the front yard, watching to be sure none of the survivors made a break for it. And, while I quietly procured a couple of plastic shopping bags, Seymour was there at my heels to poke at the quickly-growing cargo, lest it escape and wreak havoc on our little hamlet.
What a guy.
We can always count on Seymour. Whether it be a wicked case of water bottles or a malevolent cardboard shipping box insidiously placed in his domain by the suspect UPS driver, he has our backs.
We can sleep soundly knowing that while "something wicked this way [may] come", Seymour will stop it before its foul agenda can be accomplished.
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