the fawn who captured my heart

       Early spring a year ago, a beautiful doe arrived in the meadow. We could see she was pregnant. She was alone and spent much of her time grazing. Occasionally, she would come down to the house and pick at old apples still clinging to the trees. She munched on acorns and was often found resting in our barn's out cove.

      Later that spring, she had a spotted fawn with her. I was never sure of its sex, but I always thought it was a female. Many days, we would see this mother-and-daughter pair grazing and sometimes moseying down to the house.

      The fawn was a lively little girl, independent and playful. She would hide behind the privet, prance and jump onto the lawn, then run back, leaping behind the privet as if playing hide-and-seek with her mother, who was patient and calm. Yet you could tell the mother was protective and cautious of her fawn’s safety.

      As spring turned into summer, we watched the little fawn grow stronger and bolder in her visits to our home. Almost daily, she and her mother grazed in the meadow, munching on lush greens.

      When fall arrived, apples and acorns fell, and their visits became more frequent. When winter set in, about a dozen deer slept outside our back door each night, next to the two large red oaks and inside the privet. We have a stone house, so the heat from the stone kept that area warm.

      On January 23, I recorded a video of the mother deer and her young one, now strong and capable. By February, we saw fewer deer in the meadow as Vermont snow settled in, with about 18 inches covering everything. We could see their tracks and knew they were nearby, but they no longer came close to the house.

      Two days ago, as the weather warmed and the snow melted, spring approached. My husband went out to survey the lawn and, to our shock, found the body of a dead deer lying next to our stone wall, about 30 feet from our back door. This happened on our daughter’s 48th birthday, and I felt it was a terrible omen.

      Rick was hesitant to tell me at first but finally shared the sad news: it was the little fawn. He knew by its size. It was frozen into the ground, with crows already pecking at it, but it was intact.

      We mourned, I cried, and we were horrified that this could happen so close to our home. Many friends on social media told us it was natural, part of the cycle in nature. Still, nothing could console me.

      The next morning, we faced the question of what to do with the body. We contacted the State Police, Game Warden and our Town Health Inspector. Liz, the health inspector, advised us to move the body into the woods, and if the game warden wished to see it, he could.

      Rick called my son-in-law Josh, who lives right next door, and together they managed to get the deer into a wheelbarrow and move her to the woods. Some friends suggested that the body could feed on other predators, such as bobcats, fishers or coyotes. It all sounded very grim.

      When Rick and Josh returned, and I learned the deed was done, Rick told me that, after examining the deer, it was clear her hindquarters were torn up. He assumed she was attacked by coyotes and ran through the meadow and down to the lawn seeking safety, where she died from her injuries, nestled next to our stone wall, above the daffodil patch, near the barbecue, just a few feet from our back door.

      That was her safe place.

      What I take from this is important, though I am still searching for the full meaning. It reminds me that our human footprint on this planet has consequences—either positive ones for the creatures we share it with or devastating ones.

      I loved that little fawn. I watched her grow, frolic and play in our meadow. I hope my life has honored all living things in nature, and I believe they deserve to be here, free from pain and suffering, and supported and nurtured by our species, who so often forget we are creatures, too.