>The drive home is uneventful. At the one stop sign before you hit the main road, you light a cigarette to calm your nerves, and flip the knob on the radio to a modern country station. >You grimace at the song currently playing. It’s a little too close to home for your tastes, so you switch it. Problem is, you went from a song crooning about a current girlfriend that’s everything to them to a song exclaiming that the singer has a brand new girlfriend. >Goddamn it. You punch the tape player only to be greeted by another one, involving one’s tractor being sexy as seen by a girlfriend. “What the fuck.” >You switch to your last resort [spoiler]your iPod[/spoiler], and are greeted to a song about living in the big time. Close enough. >When you finally pull up your gravel drive, you shift it to park but keep blaring the music as you sing along. You aren’t half bad. Everyone’s always trying to get you to do karaoke, but you are a modest guy. >It’s not until you’re getting the groceries out of the cab and the back of the pickup that the irony of the lyrics hits you. “Riding up and down Broadway / on my old stud Leroy / and the girls say / save a horse, ride a cowboy! Everybody says / save a horse, ride a cowboy!” >You pause and blink. Speaking of horses, Oz is standing in the doorway and looks both amused and embarrassed by your impromptu performance. It’s your turn to be embarrassed as hell. >Swiftly you lean in and cut the engine off, which thankfully stops the music from blaring. Avoiding looking at the door, you scoop the rest of the groceries up and make one trip. >Two trips? Why not one? >”H-hey, Anon.” She seems to be repressing giggles. Well, at least she’s happy. “Hey. Got your milk and stuff. Can you put them up? I got something else to take care of.” >”Sure!” >You place the bags of groceries on the floor by the table. As you turn to go take care of the deer, you notice the #3 flag is back where it belongs. You give a nod in salute to the legend and hurry back outside before the local wildlife notices you’ve got dinner. >You flip down the tailgate and drag the heavy carcass over. After a moment, you haul him onto your shoulders, already planning on how best to prepare your dinner. As you start for the shed, which doubles as garage and hunting lodge, you hear a loud gasp from the doorway. >Oz comes running and your slow mind makes the connection. “Fuck.” >”Anon, is he okay? What happened? We should notify the authorities! We can’t stand by and let him die!” She jumps on your back, which already has an almost three-hundred and fifty pound buck on it and begins to holler at the deceased creature. >”Hey! You’re going to be okay, sir! We’re going to help you make it! You’re going to live a long and healthy life! >You collapse under the combined weight of pony and whitetail. The wind is momentarily knocked out of your chest and you gasp for air. She seems to mistake it for the deer. >”Accessing WebMD! I’ll get you taken care of, sir!” >She actually begins chest compressions and rescue breathing. As you regain your bearings, you realize this, and the sobering thought of what you’re going to have to explain to her hits you. >Goddamnit. You sigh and shake your head. “Oz…please, get off me.” >”But Anon! This poor deer! We have to-“ >You find the needed strength to shove them both off of you. You sit up and look at Oz. Her mane is frayed, and she’s gotten some of the deer’s blood on her grey-blue fur. There are tears in her eyes and she’s shaking a little. >”We…we need to help this…poor ungulate…” >Goddamnit. “Oz…he’s dead. He’s been dead for at least two hours.” >The pony stares at you, and then at the deer. Her lip quivers and a tear escapes her eyes. >Oh fuck me. She pokes at the whitetail with a hoof sadly. “N-no…he’s…going to survive. He’s going to l-live…” “I’m sorry, Oz…he got hit by some vehicle on the interstate. I-“ >You grunt as she rushes into you and just begins to cry. After a moment, your wrap your arms around her and rock her gently. “Sshh…it’s going to be alright, Oz…he’s in a better place. He lived a good life.” >You assume so. How the fuck were you supposed to know how deer lived their lives? For all you know, this was some pervy deer bastard that peeped on the lady deers. >You find a single tear in your eye. Oh hell no. This pony has you crying over something you were planning on making dinner. Fuck. You blink the tear away rapidly and distract yourself by stroking her mane as she soaks your shirt with tears. >Whydoesthishappentome.jpeg >After what seems like a good thirty minutes, she calms down enough. She’s a wreck, her mane frizzled despite your best efforts. Her eyes are red and bloodshot, with tears coating her cheeks and a bit of snot too. >Ew. >You sigh softly and hold her close. >”A-Anon.” She hiccups a little. “A-are…you going to perform f-funeral rites on him?” >NO. NO WAY IN HELL. YOU ARE A GODDAMN REDNECK FROM THE STICKS AND YOU ARE HUNGRY. THAT IS YOUR DINNER AND LUNCH FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS, DON’T YOU DARE- “…yeah. I’ll bury him in the meadow two miles out. I…just wanted to clean him up a little.” >You are a terrible liar, but it will suffice. There’s a war in your mind right now, but you ignore it. Some things are more important than a full stomach. And the side you’re on right now just won a major battle when she looks up at you and gives an honest to God smile, eyes tearing up again. >”T-thank you, Anon.” She gives you a small kiss on the cheek and your face burns from the embarrassment. You awkwardly pat her head. “Go on inside and finish putting the groceries away, Oz. I’ll take care of him.” >”Y-you sure?” She sniffs and looks up at you. “D-do you want me to-“ “Nah, I got it. I’ll be along in a little while. Go on now.” >She smiles sadly and gives you a hug. Your heart is breaking slowly and you hug her back. She gets up and makes her way inside, pausing at the doorway to watch you get up for a moment before heading inside. >With a sigh, you get up and dust off your jeans. You look at the whitetail for a moment before shaking your head. “Fucking waste…” >You head over to the shed and grab your shovel. You toss it in the bed of your truck, and hoist the deer back into the truck. Shifting it into drive, you turn it around and head off to go give a dead deer a goddamn funeral. >In your rearview, you can see Oz watching from the doorway. Something catches in your throat and you look back to the road. >Confound these ponies.