2020, on the hoof.

Was that a toy in the backyard? I can usually account for all of the dogs' playthings, because I'm the one who throws them and most of the time they remain there, being ignored by the dogs, who want to sniff and gnaw weeds instead. So yesterday morning when I spotted a long, white object off in the distance, I couldn't place it. I had Nipper with me, so while he was distracted by a weed or two, I went to check it out.

It was not a toy. It was the foreleg of a fawn, ripped off, the bloody thigh bone protruding from the knee. I gasped like a little girl.

And I'm really glad Nipper didn't key on it first.

I'm not particularly squeamish, especially about an animal I would and have eaten. Like a lot of people who are being honest, I'm mostly in favor of protections for animals in the genus Cutiepie. Like the little ducklings.

I love ducks -- on my plate -- but I have to admit ducklings are adorbs. My wife and I were sitting on the porch a few weeks back when a small army of ducklings, five in all, waddled and bonked their way toward us from the pond across the street, heads swinging right and left. Seemed like they'd gotten separated from their mother. I imagined us raising them like a family of ducks in a sixties Disney movie, but I knew it was best to get them back to their mother if possible. So I went toward them, and they literally turned tail and ran, or rather waddled and zigzagged back to the pond area.

I never had the heart to tell my wife that a couple of nights later, out with Nipper, I heard ferocious screeching and yowling across the street. I've heard lots of intramural bird fights over there, but this was different. This was the damnable circle of life in action. I figure we'll not see those ducklings again.

I was surprised though about this fawn, though. We get a good amount of foxes around here, and a few raccoons, but this was coyote or bear work. I hadn't seen any of them around, but a couple of the neighbors' trash cans had gotten the business last week, knocked over and ripped apart. I can only suppose that my can was left alone because of the large quantity of dog poop in it.

I had to get the fawn leg away from the dog, so I picked it up by the little hoof -- barely bigger than a quarter in diameter -- and chucked it in a trash bag that was waiting for the garbage truck. If it had been the leg of a full-size deer, it would have been harder to get rid of, but it would have made me less sad. Fawns and ducklings are cute, and dumb, and I just hate to see one get murdered so young. Life is hard on the little ones.

Well, be glad I didn't have my phone with me, or I might have taken a photo of the remains for a Very Special Movie Event of Bacon's Beat, reviving my mouse detective Bacon, investigator of all the roadkill I've seen around here.

That evening, by the way, I went into the back again with Nipper, and sure enough a dark coyote was making his escape through the tall grass as we entered. Come back for the foreleg, I guess. I'll be watching for him.

Oh, well. Sorry, little fawn. Just another damn creepy thing to happen in our annus horribilis, 2020. At least the coyote got to eat something he ought to eat, rather than leftover pizza crusts and tuna casserole.