I'm sitting at my kitchen table............and I just heard gunshots! I swear to god! Two of them! Pow! (pause) Pow! Like that! Are there deer hunters in my back yard? Can I not leave my own house? What is the protocol???!!!
If I were in my house in Minneapolis, I would lock the doors and call 911. But I'm guessing this is not the same thing. But just because they're AIMING at animals does not mean that humans can't get shot! It's not like they use special animal bullets or something (do they?).
Last year at Thanksgiving, I went for a walk in the woods on my in-laws property in central Minnesota........when I heard gunshots. Oh sh*t! I freeze and look around me - and see a man sitting in a tree looking right at me. And I don't have my glasses on but I swear it looks like he's aiming a gun in my direction. We're both still as statues. I look down to see what I'm wearing. All deer colors! I'm dressed like a deer. I wave to him in a very human-like fashion but he doesn't wave back. I'm afraid to move too much lest he think I'm a frightened deer trying to escape. That's when they shoot, right? But I can't shout because all the hunters will be mad at me for scaring the deer away.
WAIT! What am I thinking? I don't want to ruin his day so I'm going to let him shoot me?
So I start politely shouting - "Hellooooo.......I'm a girl, not a deer!" And when I feel that I've sufficiently made my presence known, I start moving toward the house. Rapidly and nervously but trying ever so hard not to move like a deer. Which turns into something like a penguin running.......all stiff-legged with my arms at my sides.
When I get safely to the house, I feel like crying and raging all at the same time (which is not unusual for me - but still). I can't go for a freakin' walk on private property? Because I might get SHOT?! But no one else seems as riled up as I am.........my husband in particular. Because it's deer hunting season. Like that's an adequate excuse for unintentionally shooting someone. Like if I HAD gotten shot, they'd all stand around at my funeral, holding their cups of punch, saying "Well, it WAS deer hunting season......"
(by the way, for those of you who don't know, I would like to have "Bust a Move" played at the conclusion of my funeral. My friend Martha has promised me she'll stand up in her pew and dance. Takin' it to the fellowship hall! Yeah!).
And now, sitting at my kitchen table, wondering if it's safe to go in my own backyard, I'm greeted with the same complacency. Mike is nonplussed about the gunshots and wondering why I'm so defiant. Can this really be normal?
I felt so much safer when I could just lock my doors, call 911 and know that someone would say "That's a big deal!" and start kicking some ass.