Deer oh deer. What is all the fuss about deer cohabiting with us in town. The fact is we haven’t given them much choice. They obviously couldn’t beat us, so they have joined us.
Fact of the matter is, they still roam where they always have, only now there are large, five-bedroom, 14-bath mansions with quadruple garages and Olympic-sized swimming pools to contend with. And we, the population, in turn, switched their pine needle and sagebrush diets with expensive exotic shrubs with succulent rose blooms for a chaser. Exchange is no robbery.
Just think about this for a moment. Forty years ago, in the early ‘70s, you could park your Ford Meteor at the foot of Pineview and South Main and hoof it up to Wiltse (in the best part of five hours) and be back down loading a nice four-point mule deer and a pair of plump blue grouse into your truck, or strapped on the hood (for all to see) on the way to the butcher.
We should look to the townsfolk of Grand Forks as an example for their tolerance to the white-tail population. It’s a common sight to see the deer (three deep) sleeping at the curb of a busy intersection, under a cottonwood tree, without a care in the world. Come on Penticton, live with it.
As any hunter will tell you, there won’t be a bloody deer to be had or seen come opening day Sept. 10, as they all go to ground until hunting season is over. It’s Murphy’s Law.