Our summer entertainment is sitting on the back porch at the end of the day, drinking a glass of red wine, and waiting for the deer to arrive. This summer there’s a family: a doe, a young buck, and two fawns. They drift across our backyard at dusk, and often at other times as well.
The highlight for the deer seems to be our neighbor’s apple tree. One day three or four crows followed the fawns around, landing on the apple tree and then on the ground nearby, standing there until one of the fawns chased them away. It was never clear just what they were up to.
The buck sometimes stands up on his hind legs trying to reach higher apples, staggering a little, like a cheerleader who has just thrust his partner into the air and is struggling to balance her on his hands.
Our little Yorkshire Terrier used to bark at the deer—always from the safety of the screened in porch—but now she just watches them too.
The family is usually accompanied by a buck that has a skin disease (apparently not life threatening, according to my wife’s internet research) that has covered his body with black splotches and made his face look like Darth Vader. We imagine that the family has taken him in, showing compassion on a buck that might otherwise be ostracized. The fawns treat him like a member of the family—sometimes following him—and perhaps he is.
Today while I was jogging I saw a dead fawn on the side of the road, about a quarter of a mile from our house. When I told my wife, she gasped. But she then noted that she’d seen both of our fawns after I’d gone for the run.
Sure enough, both fawns showed up this evening, along with the rest of the family. One of the buck’s two horns seems to have been broken off. I can only imagine how that happened.