Bittersweet by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

oaks. The late-afternoon shadows embraced a pair of white-tailed does, each with twin yearling fawns, grazing without fear.
    â€œThey’re beautiful,” I said, and then did a double take. “Whoa! What are
those
guys? They’re huge!”
    Those guys
were a half-dozen large deer with orange coats and a generous spattering of white spots. They had drifted out of the shadows to join the white-tails. The single male had large-tined antlers; the five females were smaller. They were gorgeous, muscular animals, significantly larger than the deer they were grazing with. The male must have weighed well over two hundred pounds, and the females were twice the weight of the white-tailed does.
    Leatha gave a heavy sigh. “They’re axis deer, escaped from the exotic game ranches in the area.” A sober look crossed her face, and she turned down her mouth. “They’re beautiful, yes, but I’m afraid they’re a terrible nuisance—worse than that, really. They compete for forage with the native white-tails. And they’re more prolific, so there are more of them every year. The ranchers and farmers around here just hate them.”
    â€œInvasive exotic species,” I said, shaking my head. “I know plenty about that where plants are concerned—kudzu, for instance, and Oriental bittersweet, vines that can smother everything. Trees, too, like chinaberries.” The chinaberry tree, which was brought to Mexico and the American Southwest in the 1840s, certainly has its uses. Mashed, the fruits produce a cleansing lather—in Mexico, it’s called the “soap tree.” In its native Asia,the toxic seeds were pulverized and used to stun fish for an easy catch. In Chinese medicine, the seeds are used to treat liver and intestinal ailments. But the tree, introduced as an ornamental in the 1830s, is on the Texas Forestry Association’s “dirty dozen” list of exotic pests because it forms dense clumps that outcompete native species. I added, “I hadn’t thought about invasives in terms of animals.”
    Leatha turned away from the window. “We think a lot about that around here, I’m afraid. The ranchers shoot the axis deer and net them, and those who can’t use the meat donate it to Hunters for the Hungry. If we could get rid of them totally, we would. It was a terrible mistake to introduce them. They don’t belong here.”
    I went back to the subject. “You mentioned that Sam would have to ‘substantially moderate’ his activity. What does that mean in practical terms?”
    She turned away from the window and went to the fridge, taking out a large container of homemade venison chili. “Well, I imagine it means he won’t be able to do as much, physically,” she said cheerily, and got out some lettuce, a couple of tomatoes, an avocado, a cucumber, and some green onions. “Here are the salad fixings, China. The bowl is in the cupboard beside the sink. We could have an oil-and-vinegar dressing with some of that delicious herbal vinegar you sent for my birthday.”
    Obediently, I opened the cupboard and got out the salad bowl. But I wasn’t going to let it go. “Will he be able to work around the ranch?”
    Leatha was spooning the chili into a pan. Reluctantly, and in a more cautious tone, she said, “I suppose it means he’ll have to slow down some. Which he won’t.”
    I began tearing lettuce into bite-size pieces. I knew that Leatha didn’t want to discuss this—she probably didn’t even want to
think
about it. Butshe needed to look ahead. I didn’t want to borrow trouble or worry her unnecessarily, but what would she do if he wasn’t able to do very much—or, worst case, if he wasn’t around?
    â€œI’m asking,” I said carefully, “because I’m wondering how you’ll manage. I saw your new sign beside the main highway, and I know