The Blueberries Are A Comin’

The deer can’t wait…

10 Responses to “The Blueberries Are A Comin’”

  1. Rob says:

    I feel your pain. I have 5 bushes for over 10 years now. I have yet to harvest a single berry.

  2. Mr. Bingley says:

    I’ve got 20 or so planted…and 7 deer in the gully who are just licking their chops.

  3. wunderkraut says:

    Can’t you shoot said deer?

  4. Mr. Bingley says:

    Nope. Not in my town. The only thing the deer have to fear are SUVs.

  5. Cullen says:

    Poison saltlicks.
    Gonna try and hang some more Irish Spring deterrent?

  6. wunderkraut says:

    That settles it…have a deer round up! I’m sure there are lots of suburbinites who have giant SUV’s who have never done anything outdoor-sy before. Get them together and go “deer hunting”.
    Results: Fewer deer and tasty meat!

  7. Retread says:

    The deer around here keep up their strength by eating hostas while they wait for the blueberries.

  8. JeffS says:

    Try a pellet gun, Mr. Bingley. My brother lives on an island where the deer are pretty much an infestation. Shooting them with live ammo is possible, under state game laws, but the season is limited, and the local population is 80% Ancient Hippy, each and every one of whom wuvs the f**king little s**ts with all their drug addled hearts. So the midget monstrosities roam freely, without fear of humans. It’s not natural.
    Growing a garden there requires a high fence and the patience of Job. But The Bro finds that a pellet gun does a nice job of scaring them away. For a while. And they can use it in or out of season.
    I suggested a crossbow, but The Bro is a law abiding creature. Mostly, anywho.

  9. Kate P says:

    Oh, I hope you get at least some of the blueberries. I know the wabbits don’t like red pepper–maybe deer don’t, either?

  10. Mr. Bingley says:

    Hehe, Cullen I put out the fresh bars of Irish Spring last week!
    Plus something that goes by the charming name of “putrefied egg solids” and smells like, er, well, putrefied egg solids, oddly enough.

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