Sitting at the computer yesterday afternoon staring through the west windows when, like magic, a deer walked into my line of vision, not twenty-five feet from the house. Then another, and another, and finally, one more.
Where were those dopey dogs, I wondered, but not a single growl or "arf" out of either one to scare the deer away.
Cautiously, the deer advanced and I could see they were all young bucks, their antlers just beginning to emerge. They drank from the giant mud puddle at the bottom of the new driveway, then walked to the edge of the rubble strewn mess of what is left of the old house. All of them stood staring at the carnage, sniffing the air. I wondered what they made of that smelly black hole suddenly ripped into their environment. Satisfied there was nothing for them, they made their silent, cautious way across the culvert and on down the creek.
I welcome the deer. After the gray bunnies made their great escape, I witnessed one of the bunnies greet a deer by almost touching noses. They spent some time together in the grass in approximately the same vicinity as the four bucks traveled yesterday. A deer trail must exist past my house. I have seen a doe with her fawn at different times as well.
During hunting season, wounded deer come somewhere close to my home to die, based on the bones the dogs find to drag up. I also find deer skeletons with regularity in the pasture. I say a prayer of forgiveness over the bones, just in case it was a drunk "hunter" high on meth, Budweiser and Skoal that wounded the deer with his crack marksmanship.
I am thankful that the deer nation survives. They are welcome in this bend of the creek.