The Stories I Promised You

So, as you know, not many people use phone books anymore. Lots of the people I deliver to try to give them back to me. They don't understand the beautiful service I am doing for society. I tell them I can't take the phone books back, sorry (this is THIRTY CENTS, people). They tend to shrug it off and maybe even go online to add their names to the Do Not Deliver List. No big deal.

 [yummy]

One man was different. I was walking from house to house, again, setting phone books on door steps. As I headed back toward the van, this man opened his front door and shrieked,
"I DON'T THROW TRASH ON YOUR DOORSTEP, WHY WOULD YOU THROW IT ON MINE!?!"
 As if I were a neighborhood punk playing a joke with a bag of dog poo. Still, he kinda freaked me out and I noticed he had even taken the trouble of tearing the plastic bag and bringing it (or perhaps hurling it?) all the way to the end of his driveway.

I nervously delivered a book to his next door neighbor, hoping the crazy man was not close with this particular family. Right before leaving I debated whether or not I should pick up the discarded "trash" about 10 feet away from my van. Crazy man opened the door to voice his opinion on the matter,
"PICK IT UP!!!!!!!!!!" 
Not wanting to be, you know, killed or something, I picked it up and drove away. Unfortunately I never got the chance to tell this fellow he could go online and put himself on the Do Not Deliver List.

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Do not fear, I am safe from the crazy man and the next story is far more lighthearted!
Now some of the houses on my latest route are in the country. Sounds pleasant for the owners but it is irritating for the lowly phone book delivery girl (me).

One house, at the end of a long dirt road had this standing outside:

[brownish four-legged something...]

As the grainy, cell phone picture reveals, there was SOMETHING in the yard and I didn't know what it was! The thing was large and brown. Maybe it was a deer, but maybe it was a large dog. I nervously recalled the other farm where six unleashed dogs had ran up to me, barking like crazy (that home did not receive their cherished phone book). I slowly inched the van forward, but the beast did not move. Obviously it had nerves of steel. 

Wait! Maybe it did move!

I was on the brink of turning back from the massive dog/wolf/deer/shark when a label on the truck in the driveway stopped me. 

Something-Something Taxidermy Co.

Yes, my friends, it was a stuffed deer. The story ended happily. I strolled past the preserved deer carcass, laughing to myself and delivered a bundle of joy to the taxidermists.

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Story number three: MOO COWS!

[and a swamp!]