Gardening is wresting from nature what is not yours, and making it yours. Or at any rate believing that this can be done. Of course it is not possible, and any gardener's life is a series of dance steps -- most of them like Ginger Rodgers' dance steps: backwards.
Nowhere else is this more obvious than in the case of the deer. How woodland sylph-like they are! How dainty of foot and Italian aristocrat of nostril! How in a field they do gather at twilight! I used to say, before I was a suburban gardener, "What's everyone so worked up about? Deer are God's creatures..." and all that Disney Bambi dunderheadedness.
Now I have joined the Greek chorus of "The deer ate my hostas." And they are my enemy. They represent everything that is wrong with the world. And I am just lulu enough to have thought of staying up late with the garden hose beside me and if there is hoof-movement in the hostas again, letting loose with what Walt Whitman would call a Giant Yawp.