This is the time of year my heart goes out to these graceful wild creatures.
Because in Maine?
It’s fly season.
And there’s nothing flies like more than a juicy deer.
The poor things are covered in them.
Day and night, night and day.
All over their bodies.
They twitch, they scratch, they shake like a Parkinson’s patient to no avail.
I can’t even imagine how horrible this must be.
I go berserk if one nasty fly finds me when I’m mowing the lawn…. I’d be stark raving mad if I had to contend with this many!