Foot-Draggers

“Mitchell George, stop dragging your feet!”

That would be my mother talking.

The full “Mitchell George” treatment meant trouble.

When I was a kid, I had a host of habits that drove my mother nuts.  I slouched.  I incessantly tapped forks and spoons against the tabletop.  I took apart (because how does THAT work?) clocks and radios and left them without the possibility of repair.  I wore the same jacket until it virtually rotted off my body.  I never washed behind my ears.

And I dragged my feet.

“You’re going to wear out your shoes and trip and fall on your face if you don’t start picking up your feet!”

Just the other day, I finally realized I am not a total freak of nature.  At least not in all respects.  I discovered the ultimate foot (more appropriately, hoof) dragging beasts.

Mule deer. 

They have been dragging their feet around here for eons, but I simply did not notice (apparently, Mother did not notice, either) until I really studied some sets of tracks left in the snow by a bunch of passing mule deer.  I have posted a photograph of the tracks I captured with my smarter-than-me-phone.

You can see from the photograph that little more than a skiff of snow covers the ground.  And you can clearly see that the deer—every one of them—dragged their feet as they poked along.

We are talking about an entire species of foot-draggers at the winning end of an evolutionary chain.

This is normal stuff, foot dragging.

But I could hear this in my head as I studied the tracks: “Mule Deer George, pick up your feet!  You are going to wear out the snow!”

—Mitchell Hegman