Cemetery bucks are special critters. What follows is the story of a cemetery buck that we tried to get the drop on for over 15 years. Every year, his scrapes would be there...but, we could never get even a glimpse of him. We finally decided that he was a ghost!!
SARA'S GHOST BUCK
From her position on the upper terrace,
Sara could see much.
She observed all manner of creatures,
People, birds and animals and such.
The boys and I passed by her
Many times on the terrace below.
If our presence ever registered,
It never did show.
Sara, or Saraette, as named by her mother
Was respected by all.....or, nearly all.
There was one smart-alecky young buck
That came to pester Sara every Fall.
He'd show up at dusk or dawn,
Coming in on a stiff-legged prance
That buck would bow and scrape
And paw up the lower terrace, as if doing a dance
To us observers after-the-fact,
His wide-eyed, nostril-flared, lip-curled look
Suggested the greatest of disrespect.
That boy needed, at least, to be shook!
The older boy, Justin, and I fashioned an observation post
By placing a big old rock against an ancient pine tree.
From where we hoped to see the young buck in action
and advise him to show respect or suffer misery.
For years, Fall after Fall
We just could not catch that buck in the act.
But we knew he was there regularly.
The sign that he left, proved that a fact.
He left the lower terrace tore up,
Despoiling, we thought, sweet Sara's view.
So....to catch him and stop him,
I decided to try something new:
I took myself to the rock seat;
Walked in in the dark and sat down to wait.
Sure enough, just before dawn,
In comes the buck, on his stiff-legged gait.
His eyes were wide; his nostrils flared.
Upper lip curled back in what looked like a sneer.
Unaware of my presence, he began to tear up the earth,
Never suspecting that his comeuppance was near.
Raising my shotgun, I wished it were loaded with shot.
With that, I could remove the smile from his face.
With ball instead, I centered his chest
And pulled the trigger to anchor him in place.
When the gun went off, I heard not a boom,
But more of a soft gasp or sigh.
It was a touching little girl sound
That immediately brought a tear to this old Dad's eye.
The buck showed no sign of injury.
He merely floated or ghosted away.
He stopped below Sara
And turned her way.
And I again heard the little girl;
A sort of oooh or aaah that obviously spelled joy.
Apparently Sara was happy
That my shot had not hurt that frisky boy.
The buck then disappeared...right before my eyes.
He didn't run; he just melted away
My truck was but 300 yards distant.
I ran the whole way!