It's that time of year....

Yes, while this does want to make me start singing Christmas songs (not that it's hard to get me going on some Christmas carols!), I'm really meaning that time of year when the woods are littered with the chopped up remains of deer left behind by hunters. Not quite as delightful an image as chestnuts roasting by an open fire.Well, Wilson may disagree with me. I don't know where he finds them, but every other day he comes trotting through the yard proudly caring a whole leg or some other body part. Even if he doesn't bring parts back, he will disappear for an hour or so and come back looking like a walrus, feasting on something too big to bring home and enjoy in the comfort of his own yard.

This may all seem well and good, but I don't think this carnivorous orgy he goes on this time of year sets very well with him, digestively. Like most of us, he probably has eyes that are bigger than his stomach, and doesn't know when to say when. He then spends the rest of his day lying around looking lethargic and well, just plain icky... exactly like I do when I've overeaten or indulged in something I know my mouth likes better than my gut does. I've also noticed a definite connection between his hunting season feasts and an increase in seizures during that time. Plus, now that Joe and I have switched sides of the bed, my nose is now directly above Wilson's fireside sleeping spot. Let's just say it's like sleeping next to one of those air fresheners that sends off blasts of aroma every few minutes...except one that's gone horribly, horribly wrong.  The other day I had to hurry Wilson out the door because he had this look on his face that I could only interpret as "I'm about to barf a steaming pile of semi-digested, rotten deer carcass on this rug." It's a good thing for Wilson that this has been a fairly balmy winter, because he's going to be spending most of his time outside until he gets all this feasting out of his system!