Mourning for deer

By Mary Sharry
Sun contributor
Nature can be harsh and beautiful at the same time.

There is a resident herd of deer in our neighborhood; most of the time they live in a field across the street from our house. In early summer, the does and their fawns—sometimes there are twins—roam the village of Empire. The babies are sweet and precious on their spindly legs—I’ve even heard dyed-in-the-wool hunters, macho men, babble “Aw-w-w” at the sight of a fawn following its mom. A fawn nursing beneath a doe is a scene to treasure.

In village gardens the moms dine on tasty treats like hostas and tender new grass. This year I watched a doe, her whiskers delicate and dew covered, tenderly pick off the bloom of a blue-flag iris, a single purple petal dropping from her black lips as she munched. In early evening, where stands a golden sunflower growing straight, turning its face toward the last rays of sunshine, there, the next morning, remains nothing but a fuzzy stalk—a deer has chomped off the fat, seed-filled head. Before my New England asters come into bloom their tiny heads are nipped in the bud.

Last winter, for several weeks, we watched a deer that had three legs—one hind leg was missing from the second joint down. It was a real pity to observe. Out in the field, the resident herd gathered around this lame deer as it hobbled to forage on whatever low branches it could reach. It was unable to stand on hind legs as some deer do to reach the higher limbs of white pine.

In the snowy field, this impaired animal survived mostly on the dried grasses exposed by the warmth of its body where it had lain. It did lie down for considerable periods of time, but was able to rise and move with certain difficulty to different locations. I’ve never felt that coyotes go after deer unless one is terribly wounded, and obviously this deer couldn’t run. Coyotes do come into the village.

Out of concern for this injured deer, I had called a conservation officer and was told that the DNR policy is to leave situations such as this alone. The officer with whom I spoke said you would be surprised at how many three-legged deer there are out there. He said they injure a leg sometimes when running by stepping into a gopher hole, or being shot by a hunter, or hit by a car. The leg eventually falls off. He said that if the deer were unable to stand up or to move, then they would put the animal out of its misery. Through cold and blustery days we continued to watch this touching scene as the other deer in the herd came around and stood near the unfortunate one—sometimes they would lie with it and sometimes stand over it and lick it about the head.

One day the village backhoe came down the street through the snow and into the field. Through binoculars we saw the vehicle make its way toward a deer carcass. Someone in the neighborhood must have spied the body and asked to have it removed. I went out to investigate. I wanted to get there before the backhoe had lifted the remains. I wanted to see if this was the three-legged deer. Along the way to the spot where the deer lay I saw several canine tracks, bits of fur, and blood-stained snow. When I reached the lifeless body I saw that indeed it had only three legs. The night before, a chorus of coyotes had sounded particularly close by and excited; apparently they did what coyotes will do. Survival of the fittest, bringing down a wounded creature; this is how nature works.

The story doesn’t end here, though. There came mourners, at least it appeared that way. For several weeks after the carcass was removed we watched from time to time as the other deer from the herd strolled to the place where the dead deer had lain. They stood there for seemingly long minutes before moving on in their search for food. Did they understand what had happened? Were they bewildered?

What do the deer think, and what do they feel? Do they have emotions? How much of their behavior is instinct, and how much is sentient response?
It is a gift to live here and to observe these rare elements of the natural world, harsh and beautiful—a palette of contrasts.