Why I was watching a “deer attacks man” YouTube video before going Christmas bargain hunting is neither important nor explicable. Nevertheless a connection between the activities slowly began to emerge.
It was hard not to squirm for our species as the deer slapped the guy about with nonchalant ease, knocked him over and did some vigorous tramping.
Not so tough are you, Mr. Human? Where’s all your bluster now? You’re so soft I’m not even trying.
Somewhere in the fuzzy image of flailing human arms and legs, the deer left a hoof print in a sensitive spot.
Oh deer … and ouch! Without weapons, we humans are laughably inept. It was a no contest. It was akin to someone swatting a pestilential mosquito. Or Mike Tyson, in his brutal prime, disciplining a parking meter attendant, proportioning his attack to the power of his opponent.
It was with this acute awareness of human frailty that I stepped into the Whitecourt warehouse in search of winter gear.
The recent snowy onslaught convinced me that Caribbean clothes should be relegated to the back of the closet or to underwear. T-shirts make decent undershirts. Who cares if that depiction of a palm-fringed beach never sees the light of day?
It was time to get serious about the white stuff. It wasn’t the big lie I had begun to suspect. It was a real as those treacherous, shiny black patches on the sidewalks.
It was time to stop pretending I was like a deer, born for the wild. Or like a chickadee whose little stick legs seemed to do just fine in -40 degrees.
It was time to face it: without proper boots we humans are pretty useless.
“Are you comfortable?” the shop assistant asked as I staggered around the floor like someone auditioning for Frankenstein.
Kerlunk, kerlunk, kerlunk …
“I think so,” I replied, looking around for boot-clad fellow shoppers.
What was the trick to walking with shoes that seemed to be filled with cement? Did all Canadians have well-developed leg muscles? Or did they have a special technique, a disguised shuffle, for instance? I’ve seen people run along ice-covered sidewalks. How do they do it?
I dragged myself up an aisle and rounded a corner, longing for privacy, yet feeling I was on a cumbersome rite of passage that would leave me a better – and certainly warmer – man. I worked my feet back together again, took a deep breath and kerlunked towards the assistant, imagining myself trekking through three feet of snow. Already my self-image was improving.
“They’ll feel more comfortable with wear,” she said.
“Sure. They’re just fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll take them.”
If I am going to look tough, I have to act tough. It helped that I seemed to have grown at least three inches to go with my extra 100 pounds.
I felt stronger, more rugged, more outdoorsy, more ready for winter’s worst. My lack of agility was secondary to my new manliness. It was like graduating from a car to a truck – overnight you’re king, and everybody better take heed.
And then suddenly I thought of that deer. And I thought of a little chickadee with its stick legs conspicuously free of winter boots.
Without our accoutrements, we humans are pretty bloody useless.
I guess that’s why I’ve now become Frankenstein.
Kerlunk, kerlunk, kerlunk …
