Reindeer Games. Chapter One

Reindeer can't fly.

That we can accept as an axiom.

In addition, there is no Easter Bunny, Tooth fairy, or Santa Claus.

In point of fact, depending on what part of the world you're in.

Santa, can either be Jolly old Saint Nick.

Omniscient, and Omnipresence.

Or Krampus. A crazed demonic like creature. Punisher of bad children.

I'm thinking belief in Santa, is contingent upon what century you're living in.

Reindeer can't fly.

But they can eat, and eat, and eat.

Last night, three or more of the little herbivores found their way into the greenhouse.

Mom's vegetable garden was all but destroyed.

If it hadn't been for Snowball; (what's in a name)our 140lb Belgian Shepard.Raising holy hell at 1:30 in the morning.The greenhouse would have been lost in its entirety.

It was December and Christmas was only a day or so away.

A dusting of snow covered the ground.

The deer would be easy to track.

I hadn't paid much attention when the State, deciding it was time to thin out the deer population, issued extended permits to hunters.

But Dad did.

I found the bright orange permits on his desk.

Snagged two.

Then called Mike.

My oldest, closest, friend and confident.

Mike arrived before the cell signal faded.

He let himself in, stamping snow from his boots onto the mat.

I continued opening the wall safe.

"That was fast."

Mike grinned as he walked over and stood beside me.

"I was on my way to the Diner."

"For your enlightenment and edification, its time for breakfast."

I removed a set of keys from the safe, then walked over and unlocked the gun cabinet.

"Sorry." I replied as I punched in the alarm code before opening the door.

(Dad was nothing if not security conscious)

Mike reached past me, into the cabinet, removing a Winchester M94.

"Not a problem."

"Okay if I borrow one of Danny's jackets?"

He sighted along the gun’s barrel.

"My day was supposed to start with breakfast, not traipsing through the woods looking for Bambi."

Danny, my younger brother, was Mikes size, and away at college; studying nuclear something or other.

The kid was a whiz at anything geek.

Which, as a rule, made my eyes spin counter clockwise.

"Sure." I replied.

"Help yourself."

As I stared at the rifles, trying to decide which one I wanted to take with me, Mike, once again reached past me, removing a Marlin 336.

"Here." He shoved it into my hands.

Laying his Winchester on the desk top, he walked over to the closet.

"If I wait for you to decide the deer will die of old age."

As he removed one of Danny's all weather Macs, I grabbed two cartridge belts and ammo for both guns.

I hesitated, shivering, as a feeling of uneasiness washed over me.

I grabbed a Glock, a Bowie knife, a flashlight, extra clips for the Glock, a flare, two radios, and a first aid kit from the bottom shelf.

Mike, who had shrugged into Danny's jacket, was back standing beside me.

"Jeez Rambo. What's up with all the gear?"

" You planning a coup or hunting deer?"

"Not sure." I replied, strapping on the belt. " I just have a feeling..."

Mike interrupted, "One of THOSE feelings?"

" Aw hell. Tell me your kidding."

He strapped on his belt., then, grabbed another Glock from the cabinet.

"Maybe we should just go for breakfast,and call this a day."

I'll buy."

He checked the slide on the Glock.

Satisfied, he loaded it, then grumbling, shoved it into his holster.

"Its never good when you get one of THOSE feelings."

Like I said earlier. Mike was my closest friend.

And he was right.

Call them premonitions, precognition, or what have you.

Reindeer can't fly.

But when that feeling came upon me.

The end results were usually bad.