If you heard someone gagging Wednesday afternoon, it was me as I walked through the backyard with a snow shovel full of dead baby deer remains. The poor "dear" had been most likely attacked by a fox or coyote and left behind to be gnawed on by those nasty ugly vultures. Its skinny little deer legs were hanging off the shovel as I heaved it into the field behind our house.
(Have I thoroughly grossed you out enough or do you require a photo? I guess no need for more than one of us gagging at a time. I didn't take a photo anyhow. Who would do that???)
For almost 2 weeks, that offensive pile of Bambi and I have been sharing coffee-time on my deck, where I sit each a.m. until Lupini Martino does his doo-doo in the outhouse. This was definitely going to have to be a do-it-myselfer task. So I went in search of my camouflage.
I did not want to do it! I truly tried to delegate it! I had been pestering my "muscular house heroes" to process the dead deer (oh dear Hubs & Son) and yes, playing the role of Helpless Female. Alas, they said they would, yet no one was running to get the shovel. My son even played dumb, "What carcass?" - oh c'mon! - like he hadn't noticed a dead animal lying on the grass near his parking spot? (At least he disposed of that poor deceased mouse in our closet last week for me. What is it with dead animals around here?)
So, for the last morning, I was up to here in the one carcass count. I could no longer glance at Bambi's meatless ribs sticking up toward the sky. I was hoping it would eventually be gnawed down to crumbs and I wouldn't have to get near the residuals (gag-gag-gag). Turns out, even vultures leave some food on their plates (fur and bones, that kind of fun).
Alrighty then ... move over, you beastly vultures, I am relocating your lunch!!
SHE'S GOING IN! ...
I needed only two tools: our new red snow shovel and a little guts (no pun intended - LOL). I made Mrs. Helpless Female stay in the house, and I scooped up the deer, heaving poor Bambi out of sight as I tried not to heave up my lunch.
[learned helplessness / lernd helplisnes / noun]:
a condition in which a person suffers
from a sense of powerlessness
Do you have the power? Do you have the tools? Or are you waiting for someone to do something for you? Are you playing helpless? Helpless Female ... Helpless Human ... Helpless Husband? (Guys, c'mon, do you actually know where the soy sauce is in the 'fridge yet still need your wife to find it for you? We see you.)
Snippeteers, the old adage sticks ... if you want something done right, do-it-yourself. Allow me to tweak that ... if you want something done at all, do-it-yourself. Busy women - independent women - determined women - self-sufficient women - courageous women - and women who do not like to gaze at lifeless cold meat lying on their lawn - will get it done. Yes we will.
Is it possible for us to do a task solo, thus relieving ourselves of the angst, the thoughts about it, and the possible stress associated with it?
Then go ... do-it-yourselfer ... let it be DONE, let it be GONE, let it be OUT OF SIGHT.
Sometimes we have only us. Sometimes we need to be The DIYer. Either others are not interested in a task, procrastinate doing it even though they promised they would, or we get weary of hearing ourselves ask.
Pull up your big girl or boy knickers. Just do it yourselfer, dear.
