I am sad to see my deer are gone. I call them my deer, the three adults and three young ones less than a year old. Over the years the size of the herd varies, but the trail they walk past my window stays the same.
I wrote about Flag recently, the one youngster that dawdled along the way until he saw his mom had gone far up the mountain side. Then he took off like a scared rabbit. He reminded me of The Yearling, by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.
For the past couple of weeks, I have only seen one deer – one of the young ones. Where are the others? It is hunting season. I know because I saw two photographs of big burly men in our local newspapers holding the dead heads of bucks they had proudly killed.
I haven't seen any bucks in my deer herd, but I wonder if the does and young ones were shot. I know many of the people in this area eat the meat of the deer and it is no crueler than killing a cow for the beef. Still, I enjoyed the little herd passing by my window each day. Unlike people with gardens, I did not find them to be nuisances.
On one snowy winter day, I caught them feeding in the snow. I made a shaky, amateur video and posted it on You Tube. You can see it by clicking on the link below.
