Introducing Not Yancy

muliebrity \myoo-lee-EB-ri-tee\, noun:
The state of being a woman.

So as I sit here wondering what I should write about, my mind keeps wandering back to the deer head that is hanging above our fireplace and the fact that he doesn't have a name. And for some reason, that really bothers me. I mean, seriously. Michael loves him enough that he could be one of our children. And he stares at it long enough that it kinda makes me a little jealous, like, "Hey! Remember me? Your WIFE? The bearer of your children? Your human children? The one who knows what you look like - ahem - in the buff? The one who washes your underwear? Yes. Me." So for this animal, this pseudo-son to be un-named is completely unacceptable. It's not fair, nay. It's just not right.

Last night as I was watching a bit of television, I kept looking over to where he, the deer, sat, protruding from the wall over our wood burning stove, and so help me, I thought I could hear the big boy calling to me to save him from the namelessness of his afterlife. "Ehhmily. Ehhhhmilyyyy. Ehhhhhhhmilyyyyyyyyy! Name me dang it." And if you think it's easy to ignore a giant mule deer head staring right at you when you're trying to watch The Biggest Loser, American Idol and Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, you are sorely mistaken. His eyes! They were boring a hole right through me! It seemed that no matter which side of the couch I sat on, or even which couch I sat on, for that matter, his ever seeing eyes followed me. I won't lie. It was a little creepy. So much so that I built a barricade to keep him from my line of sight. I stood our folding table on end the long way and piled pillows and blankets on top until its height reached just past his eyes. It worked. For about 4.3 minutes. Long enough for the commercial break to be over and my show to come back on. I swear, the second Johnny Depp started to tell Violet Boregard to spit out the 3 course meal gum, my tower of obstruction came crashing down to the ground. Scared a scream right out of me. That's when I knew; the matter of Mr. No Name Mule Deer has got to be resolved. Maybe it's muliebrity and the fact that we, as women have this constant need to nurture and protect our offspring. This Deer has become part of the family, and by jove, he'll be named.

Now, when naming someone (or something) a little bit of research must be done. Typically one will choose a name that has special meaning, whether it be a family name, the name of their first car, or even the name of their favorite sport or duck hunting spot. Some may even choose a name from the movie Zorro that they just thought was beautiful. Whatever the reason is, the name means something to the person doing the naming. This situation is no different. I had to figure out a name that both Michael and I would like. Of course you have the typical deer names. There's Buck, Boss Hog, and the like. And then you have the non-typical names; Henry, Paunchy, Unit 10. But for this deer, I wanted to give him a name so amazing, so beautiful, so strong, that all who heard it would go, "Ah. Now I know." And they would. They would know.

The name I have chosen comes from much thought and consideration as to how this deer came to live with us, in our freezer and over our mantle. For a much more detailed description of how he came to us, you should read about it here. You won't be disappointed.

And so, after much deliberation, I would like you to meet... 

Delsy Chuchip

(In case you were wondering, the names are Native American and they derive from the Hopi tribe. Delsy means He Is So, and Chuchip means Deer Spirit.)

He Is So [a] Deer Spirit.

It was down to those or Yancy, which means Englishman. Call me crazy, but Yancy didn't sound right.

So there you have it.

And now I can sleep tonight.

I wasn't kidding about those eyes.

P.S. The antelope is a whole different post.