A Dead Deer . . . and a half

After all that bad aunt action of taunting Z about "just stop being a wimp and go play in the woods if you want to", he talked me into taking his tour of the "leprechaun colonies" in my 'rents backyard. I usually beg off with the excuse that I'm wearing flip-flops, but with the enticement of "leprechauns" in little organized "colonies" (or was it lepers?) I had to go. There is a lot of poison ivy in the woods. And there are only deer paths . . . which is great for anyone, say . . . as tall as a deer, like Z. There are a lot of sticks, of the pointy variety, waiting to poke at my eyes and pricker bushes or pricker trees and poison ivy, did I mention the poison ivy?

So we start into the woods and we come to the pile of rocks that the farmers made from pulling the rocks out of the fields. This was the big leprechaun settlement. I suppose if you are a leprechaun living in my parent's woods, the rocks would be an excellent place to settle down. But wait . . . there is another leprechaun colony further up. And so we go deeper into the woods to the next pile of rocks. I've seen the rocks before but feign excitement for Z. He heads up the path, looking for the next pile of rocks, eh, I mean . . . leprechaun town and he finds a bone.

"Ohhhh, look a bone!" "And 'nother bone and there's 'nother bone, Emily!" I'm trying to look at the first bone that he is waving in my face, hoping that any rotting things or bugs are not being flicked on my face. I am trying to get a better look because I'm not sure what KIND of bone it is . . . other than old. Z hands the bone to me and proceeds to dig up more bones . . . as if it is a shallow grave, until he has more bones than he can hold on to . . .

I am trying futilely to stop him, just in case we have uncovered the burial grounds of the Oakland county child killer or something. I'm seriously worried that we are destroying a crime scene . . . or disturbing the final resting place of some poor deer. From the bone in my hand I can't tell. Soon he has twenty-some bones, which he gleefully takes back to my mother. I find a bucket and an old toothbrush and he spends a intense (and quiet) hour or so cleaning the bones. Kept him busy washing and arranging and washing again. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that their deer bones.

My mother took him into the woods today and he dug up, like, sixty more bones. He arranged them artfully on the lawn, which he was not supposed to touch because my father had fertilized this morning. He had lots of extra vertebrate, so he used them for knees also. Had half of the pelvis where the head was supposed to be . . . because it looked like an eye. Must have had twenty or thirty bones that he used as ribs. A wonderful anatomy lesson . . . and there was plenty of washing and arranging. Z's mother was kinda horrified but they were the best free toys ever, especially since Z is such a goth kid in training. My mother packed them all up for Z to take home, so he could take them to "show and tell" at school. And I learned that there are now three whole things that I am NOT allergic to . . . cockroaches, chocolate and poison ivy, because I stepped on a bunch of it.

And I'm pretty sure it's a deer, or two.